THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


LITERATURE, 

ANCIENT  AND  MODERN. 


^'%'^- 


BOSTON: 
C.II.    I'EIRCE    AND    G.C.llAND, 


LITERATURE, 

ANCIENT  AND   MODERN, 


s  P  E  c  I  M  fc:  N  s . 


ISy    THE    AUTHOR    OF 


PETER    PARLEY'S    TALES. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY  RANI)  AND  MANN, 

No.  3  Comhill. 

1  84  «>. 


PRESS   OF  GEOllGE  C.    RAND  &■   CO. 


.i^^- 


■Tl^i^ 


PREFACE 


Literature  consists  of  the  Written  Tiioughts 
of  Man,  and  national  literature  is  the  Reflection 
of  the  National  Mind.  In  its  collective  meaning, 
literature  embraces  the  accumulated  knowledge  of 
the  world  —  all  we  know  of  the  past,  all  that  can 
give  interpretation  of  the  present,  or  shed  light 
upon  the  future.  It  is  the  great  fountain  of  in- 
struction ;  the  wide  ocean  of  human  expe- 
rience ;  made  up,  drop  by  drop,  of  the  knowledge 
and  the  ignorance  —  the  hopes  and  fears  —  the 
pleasures  and  sufferings  —  the  triumphs  and  de- 
feats—  of  by-gone  generations. 

In  the  compass  of  these  few  and  humble 
pages,  it  would  be  idle  to  attempt  to  do  more 
than  to  present  the  general  characteristics  of  the 
literature  of  the  most  intellectual  nations  of  an- 
cient and  modern   times ;  and  even  this   might, 


perhaps,  seem  a  task  beyond  the  scdpe  of  the 
present  volume.  It  is  believed,  however,  that 
the  work  may  be  useful  as  a  guide  to  youthful 
readers,  in  forming  an  estimate  of  the  literary 
productions  of  diiVercnt  nations  and  ages,  and 
that  it  may  also  serve  to  refresh  the  recollection, 
and  methodize  the  views,  of  those  who  have 
before  gone  over  the  same  topics,  as  found  scat- 
tered in  various  publications. 


C  O  N  T  E  N  r  S  . 

PiC 

IXTRODCCTIO.V,        ,......• 

Materials  for  Writing,  ......  8 

Paper-making,    .              ......  1) 

Papyrus,         9 

Parchment,    ........  11 

Ancient  Lil)rarios,          ......  12 

Ancient  Manuscripts,    ......  13 

Invention  of  I'rinting, 14 

Modern  Libraries,          ......  15 

Modern  Literature,        ......  17 

Emolument  of  Autiiors,  ancient  and  modern,        .  Id 

Examples  of  literary  Success  in  modern  Times,  .  32 

LiTEKARV  Character  ok  the  Bible,       ...  33 

Literature  of  Greece,    ......  52 

Roman  Literature,  .......  86 

Chinese  Literature, lOJ: 

Literature  of  the  Arabians,          ....  124 

Persian  Literature, 145 

.  J 

1* 


6                                            CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

LiTERATUKE    Ol'    TIIK    TCUKS, 

.      158 

Italian  Literature,          .... 

.      164 

Spanish  Literature,         .... 

.      182 

Portuguese  Literature, 

.       201 

French  Literature,          .... 

.      210 

Slavonian  Literature, 

.      233 

Scandinavian  Literature, 

.      247 

German  Literature,          .... 

.      264 

Literature  of  Holland, 

.      290 

English  Literature,         .... 

.      299 

Irish  Literature, 

.      323 

American   Literature,      .... 

.      334 

1 1 

i 

\ 

LITERATUEE. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Literature,  in  its  widest  sense,  embraces  the  learn- 
ing of  mankind,  as  imbodied  in  books.  It  grows  out 
of  the  art  of  composition,  in  the  forms  of  prose  and 
verse,  adopted  by  authors.  Narration  and  argument 
are  usually  written  in  prose :  metre,  and  the  regular 
succession  of  long  and  short  syllables,  with  or  without 
rhyme,  are  the  usual  forms  of  poetry. 

Books  arc  the  productions  of  men  of  letters ;  and 
collections  of  them,  called  libraries,  are  the  great  de- 
positories of  human  learning.  The  five  books  of  Moses 
are,  doubtless,  the  oldest  now  extant ;  and  nothing  of 
secular  literature,  anterior  to  Homer,  at  present  re- 
mains. It  is  remarkable  that  the  two  most  ancient 
works,  sacred  and  profane,  should  be  the  Pentateuch 
and  the  Iliad  —  the  one  being  part  of  a  divine  revela- 
tion, and  the  other  among  the  greatest  achievements 
of  human  genius. 

The,  first  Greek  writers  were  Homer  and  Ilesioo, 
about  1000  B.  C ;  Tyrlteus  and  Archilochus,  in  700  ; 
and  Alcajus,  Sappho,  and  Anacreon,  in  600.  The  first 
Latin  writers  were  Plautus,  Ennius,  and  Terentius,  in 
200   B.   C.     The   first   British   writers   were   Gildas, 


8  LITERATURE. 

Nennius,  and  Bedc,  in  600  and  700  A.  D ;  the  first 
German,  Eginhard,  Wallafrid,  and  Rabanus,  in  800 ; 
the  first  French,  Fort,  Gregory,  and  Maralfe,  in  500 ; 
the  first  Spanish,  Arrian,  Fulgentiiis,  and  ]\Iartin,  in 
500  ;  the  first  Polish,  Yaraslof  and  Nestor,  in  1000  ; 
the  first  Italian,  Gratian,  Falcand,  and  Campanus, 
in  1100  A.  D. 

A  great  variety  of  materials  were  formerly  used  in 
making  books.  Plates  of  lead  and  copper,  the  bark  of 
trees,  bricks,  stone,  and  wood,  were  among  the  first 
materials  employed  to  engrave  such  things  upon  as 
men  were  desirous  to  transmit  to  posterity.  Josephus 
speaks  of  two  columns  —  the  one  of  stone,  the  other  of 
brick  —  on  which  the  children  of  Seth  wrote  their 
inventions  and  astronomical  discoveries.  Porphyry 
makes  mention  of  some  pillars,  preserved  in  Crete,  on 
which  the  ceremonies  practised  by  the  Corybantes  in 
their  sacrifices,  were  recorded.  Hesiod's  works  were 
originally  written  upon  tables  of  lead,  and  deposited  in 
the  Temple  of  the  Muses,  in  Bosotia.  The  ten  com- 
mandments delivered  to  Moses  were  written  upon  stone, 
and  Solon's  laws  upon  wooden  planks.  Tables  of 
wood,  box,  and  ivory,  were  common  among  the 
ancients ;  when  of  wood,  they  were  frequently  cov- 
ered with  wax,  that  people  might  write  on  them  with 
more  ease,  or  blot  out  what  they  had  written.  The 
leaves  of  the  palm-tree  were  afterwards  used  instead  of 
wooden  planks,  and  the  finest  and  thinnest  part  of  the 
bark  of  such  trees  as  the  lime,  the  ash,  the  maple,  and 
the  elm.  From  hence  comes  the  word  liher,  which 
signifies  the  inner  bark  of  the  trees  ;  and  as  these  were 
rolled  up,  in  order  to  be  easily  portable,  they  were 


INTRODUCTION. 


called  volumen,  or  volume  —  a  name  aftei'wards  given 
to  the  like  rolls  of  paper  or  parchment. 

The  art  of  making  paper  from  fibrous  matter,  re 
duced  to  a  pulp  in  water,  which  is  the  present  method, 
appears  to  have  been  discovered  by  the  Chinese  about 
the  year  95  A.  D.  Previously  to  this  time,  ihey  wrote 
on  the  inner  bark  of  the  bamboo,  with  a  style  or 
bodkin. 


Egyptian  I'apijrus. 

Before  the  invention  of  paper,  the  Egyptian  papyrtcs, 
from  which  our  modern  paper  derives  its  name,  had 
taken  the  place  of  other  materials  for  writing.  This 
was  made  from  a  reedy  plant,  bearing  the  above  name: 
for  this  purpose,  the  thin,  concentric  coats,  or  pellicles 
that  surround  the  triangular  stock  of  the  plant,  were 
employed,  those  nearest  the  centre  being  considered  the 
best  and  finest.  These  were  cut  into  strips  of  a  certain 
length,  and  placed  side  by  side,  in  a  layer,  on  a  board  ; 
another  layer  of  the  same  material  was  then  pasted 


10 


LITERATURE. 


over  it  crosswise,  so  as  to  form  a  sheet  of  convenient 
thickness.  After  being  pressed  and  dried  in  the  sun, 
this  was  polished  with  a  shell,  or  other  hard  and 
smooth  substance.  A  number  of  these  sheets,  some- 
times as  many  as  twenty,  were  placed  together,  to 
form  a  scapiis,  or  roll.  The  breadth  of  the  roll  was 
determined  by  the  length  of  the  slips  taken  from  the 
plant,  the  broadest  being  about  thirteen  fingers'  breadth, 
and  others  ten :  the  length  of  the  roll  might  be  carried 
to  almost  any  extent ;  some  have  been  found  as  long 
as  thirty  feet. 

The  papyrus  was  in  general  use  for  a  considerable 
period  prior  to  the  Christian  era,  and  it  appears  that 
the  Egyptians  had  extensive  manufactures  of  it,  from 
which  they  derived  a  large  revenue.  It  was  the 
common  material  for  writing  not  only  in  the  East,  but 
throughout  Europe,  and  especially  at  Rome.  Among 
other  works,  the  New  Testament  was  first  written  upon 
it.  Numerous  specimens  of  ancient  writings  upon  pa- 
pyrus are  in  existence.  One  of  these,  a  Greek  man- 
uscript in  the  British  Museum,  being  a  deed  of  sale, 
was  probably  written  about  135  B.  C.  In  the  Egyptian 
Museum,  at  Leyden,  there  are  one  hundred  and  forty- 
seven  papyri,  some  in  Greek  and  some  in  Egyptian. 
Among  the  papyri  of  the  Vatican,  is  one  bearing  the 
date  of  640  B.  C  ;  and  several  of  the  age  of  Darius, 
son  of  Hystaspes,  are  in  the  collection  at  Paris. 
Among  the  ruins  of  Herculaneum,  vast  numbers  of 
papyri  were  found,  consisting  of  the  writings  of 
Greek  sophists  and  rhetoricians,  with  works  on  music, 
medicine,  the  arts,  and  natural  and  moral  philosophy. 
Great  pains  have  been   taken  to  decipher  them,  but 


INTRODUCTION.  1 1 

nothing  of  value  has  been  discovered.  Ncvie  of  the 
lost  works  of  the  great  authors  of  antiquity  were  found 
among  them. 

Parchment,  usually  made  of  the  skins  of  sheep  or 
lambs,  derives  its  name  from  Pcrgamus,  where  it  is 
said  to  have  been  invented  by  Eumencs,  about  197 
B.  C,  in  consequence  of  the  scarcity  of  the  papyrus.  It 
was  manufactured  by  scraping  and  polishing,  and  was 
a  work  of  great  labor.  Some  of  it  was  reduced  to  so 
delicate  a  texture,  that  Cicero  is  said  to  have  seen  a 
copy  of  the  Iliad,  which  was  written  upon  it,  enclosed 
in  a  nut-shell.  Parchment  came  into  use  after  the 
Christian  era,  and  appears,  in  the  seventh  century  A.  D. 
to  have  nearly  superseded  the  papyrus.  About  this 
time,  the  Arabians  cither  invented  the  art  of  making 
paper  from  cotton,  or  borrowed  it  from  the  Chinese. 
An  establishment  for  this  purpose  was  made  at  Sam- 
arcand,  106  B.  C.  The  art  was  carried  to  Spain,  and 
then  spread  over  Europe,  thus  superseding  all  other 
materials  for  writing.  A  person  by  the  name  of  Tate 
had  a  paper-mill  in  England,  early  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  previous  to  which  time  that  country  appears 
to  have  been  supplied  from  France  and  Holland. 
Even  so  late  as  1G62,  paper-making  had  made  little 
progress  in  England  ;  but  at  the  present  day,  English 
paper  surpasses  that  of  all  other  countries. 

The  origin  of  writing  is  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity. 
It  was  probably  pictorial  at  the  beginning,  consisting 
only  of  imitations  of  visible  objects  :  at  a  later  period 
it  became  hicroglyphical,  in  which  certain  figures 
were  used  as  arbitrary  signs  of  ideas.  An  alphabet, 
consisting  of  letters  containing  the  elementary  sounds 


12  LITERATURE. 

of  a  language,  was  a  subsequent  improvement,  and  has 
proved  one  of  the  greatest  instruments  of  human 
civilization. 

In  the  East,  the  Sanscrit  is  said  to  be  the  oldest 
language :  its  alphabet  has  sixteen  vowels  and  thirty- 
four  consonants,  and  is  probably  the  parent  of  most  of 
the  Oriental  characters,  and  even  of  the  Greek.  The 
Chaldee,  Syriac,  and  Phoenician,  successively  ascribed 
to  the  invention  of  Adam,  Enoch,  Noah,  Abraham, 
and  Moses,  is  nearly  the  same  as  the  Hebrew,  Scaliger 
supposed  it  to  have  been  the  original  of  that  language  ; 
it  was  used  by  the  Jews  from  the  time  of  Moses  to  the 
captivity. 

The  art  of  writing  appears  to  have  been  extensively 
practised  in  ancient  times,  and  the  collecting  of  libraries 
was  adopted  in  remote  ages.  The  first  library  of 
which  we  have  any  account  was  that  established  by 
Hipparchus,  at  Athens,  526  B.  C,  The  second  of  note 
was  founded  by  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  at  Alexandria, 
284  B.  C,  It  contained  400,000  volumes,  many  of 
great  value,  when  it  was  burnt  by  the  Roman  army, 
47  B,  C,  Some  of  the  books  escaped,  and  the  suc- 
cessors of  Ptolemy  collected  them,  and  founded  another 
library,  which  finally  amounted  to  700,000  volumes. 
This  was  entirely  destroyed  by  the  Saracens  at  the 
command  of  Omar,  A,  D.  642, 

The  Bazilican  library,  containing  36,000  MSS.,  was 
destroyed  by  fire  at  Constantinople  in  850  ;  and  by  the 
sacking  of  that  city  by  the  Turks,  in  1452,  120,000 
Greek  MSS    also  perished. 

When  the  northern  nations,  in  the  fifth  centur}-^ 
overran  Italy,  and  other  scats  of  civilization,  multitudes 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

of  books  were  destroyed,  and,  for  a  period  of  nearly 
a  thousand  years,  literature  was  little  cultivated  in 
Europe.  A  few  monks  and  others  occupied  themselves 
with  transcribing  the  works  of  celebrated  authors,  and 
many  of  them  arrived  at  great  perfection  in  this  art. 
Thus  the  Scriptures  were  handed  down,  as  well  assomt? 
of  the  classic  authors  of  Greece  and  Rome.  But  many 
valuable  works  remained  rotting  as  lumber  in  the 
monasteries,  or  they  were  sold  to  book-binders  and 
racket-makers  for  the  parchment  they  contained. 
Some  of  these  fell  into  the  hands  of  scholars,  who 
could  appreciate  their  value,  and  thus  a  portion  of  the 
treasures  of  antiquity  were  preserved. 

It  was  one  of  the  barbarous  practices  of  the  monks 
and  caligraphists,  to  obliterate  the  writing  on  the  ancient 
manuscripts,  by  a  chemical  preparation,  merely  for  the 
sake  of  using  the  paper;  and  thus  thousands  of  valuable 
works  perished  forever.  Greek  dramas,  works  of 
Cicero,  &c.,  have  been  traced  under  the  new  writing. 
The  Abbe  Mai  has  collected  many  valuable  fragments 
from  Bobbio.  Under  an  insignificant  poem,  he  found 
three  orations  of  Cicero.  Under  some  acts  of  a  Romish 
council,  he  discovered  three  others,  with  an  ancient  com- 
mentary ;  also,  eight  speeches  of  Symmachus,  and  the 
works  of  Fronto.  Under  another,  he  found  fragments 
of  Plautus,  commentaries  of  Terence,  and  an  oration  of 
Tsaeus.  Finally,  he  restored  a  work  of  Dionysius  of 
Ilalicarnassus,  and  found  800  linos  of  a  very  ancient 
copy  of  the  Iliad  ! 

The  loss  of  the  historical  works  of  the  anc'cnts  is 
chiefly  to  be  regretted  ;  for  human  genius  may  furnish 
poetry    and     philosophy,   but    history   depends    upon 


14  LITERATURE. 

records,  and  cannot  be  supplied  by  invention.  It  w 
among  one  of  the  evils  entailed  upon  mankind  by  su- 
perstition and  war,  that  the  early  annals  of  our  race 
have  been  swept  away  by  the  fires  they  have  kindled, 
thus  leaving  us,  in  respect  to  many  interesting  portions 
of  history,  to  be  the  sport  of  poets  and  fabulists. 

The  invention  of  printing,  in  1444,  by  Guttenberg. 
of  Mentz,  in  Germany,  may  be  regarded  as  having 
done  more  for  the  cultivation  of  the  human  intellect 
than  all  other  modern  discoveries.  Without  this,  the 
mass  of  mankind  must  have  remained  uneducated  ;  and 
therefore,  while  they  continued  to  be  the  tools  of  the 
selfish  and  the  crafty,  they  would  have  been  left  to  the 
supremacy  of  their  physical  nature.  That  man  —  having 
regard  to  the  whole  race  —  is  advancing  towards  a  point 
when  he  may  be  pronounced  an  intellectual  being,  and 
one  whose  rights  shall  be  universally  respected,  is  due 
to  the  offspring  of  this  mighty  invention  —  the  press* 

Soon  after  the  discovery  of  the  art  of  printing,  a 
new  era  dawned  upon  Europe  —  the  revival  of  letters. 
A  number  of  great  events  conspired  to  dissipate  the 
gloom  that  had  rested  upon  the  world,  and  to  shed 
abroad  the  radiance  of  learning.  Under  these  happier 
auspices,  books  became  multiplied,  the  iron  shackles 
of  superstition  were  sundered,  and  the  emancipated 
mind  and  body  of  man  began  to  walk  forth  in  light  and 
libert}^  The  march  of  improvement  might  seem  slow  ; 
for  prejudices,  despotisms,  and  superstitions,  —  all  in- 
trenched in  thrones  and  dynasties,  and  enforced  by 
chains,  prisons,  and  the  rack,  —  were  to  be  combated, 

*  For  a  view  of  the  origin  and  power  of  the  press,  see  "The 
World  and  its  Inhabitants  " 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

conquered,  and  demolished.  Tlic  great  work  has, 
however,  gone  bravely  on  ;  and  if  a  comparison  be 
made  between  the  present  condition  of  society  in  Eu- 
rope, and  what  it  was  even  at  the  dawn  of  the  nine- 
teenth century, —  not  fifty  years  ago,  —  it  will  be  not 
only  seen  that  a  mighty  advance  has  actually  been  made 
in  all  that  concerns  the  best  interests  of  humanity,  but 
that  a  momentum  has  been  acquired,  in  the  march, 
which  must  prove  irresistible. 

The  libraries  of  the  presi  nt  day  bear  witness  to  the 
amount  of  human  learning,  now  recorded  and  placed 
beyond  the  possibility  of  annihilation —  unless  by  some 
event  which  shall  involve  the  entire  surface  of  the 
globe  in  destruction.  Among  the  larger  collections  of 
books  in  Europe,  we  may  name  the  following :  The 
Royal  Library,  Paris,  700,000  vols,  and  80,000  MSS. ; 
the  Bodleian  Library,  Oxford,  420,000  vols,  and 
30,000  MSS. ;  the  Royal  Central,  Munich,  500,000 
vols,  and  16,000  MSS. ;  the  Vatican,  Rome,  100,000 
vols,  and  40,000  MSS. ;  University  of  Gottingcn,  300,000 
vols,  and  22,000  MSS.;  Vienna,  350,000  vols,  and 
16,000  MSS. ;  Naples,  300,000  vols,  and  2700  MSS. ; 
Copenhagen,  400,000  vols,  and  20,000  MSS. ;  Berlin, 
250,000  vols,  and  5000  MSS.  The  foregoing  being 
given  in  round  numbers,  it  can  only  be  regarded  as 
comparatively  correct ;  but  it  serves  to  convey  some 
idea  of  the  vastness  of  these  collections,  as  well  as  their 
relative  magnitude. 

There  are  other  public  libraries,  of  great  extent,  in 
Europe,  beside  countless  numbers  of  private  collections, 
some  of  great  value,  and  containing  many  thousands 
of  volumes.     The  most  considerable  public  libraries  in 


16  LITEEATURE. 

the  United  States,  are  those  of  the  Athenaeum,  Boston 
35,000  vols.  ;  of  Cambridge  University,  40,000  vols. , 
the  City  Library,  Philadelpliia,  40,000  vols. 

The  facilities  for  printing,  at  the  present  day,  are  as- 
tonishing ;  and  the  number  of  clever  writers,  who  are 
rushing  into  the  literary  arena,  is  likewise  matter  of 
wonder.  Scarcely  does  one  star  arise  in  the  horizon 
of  the  republic  of  letters,  before  another,  and  another, 
and  still  another,  ascends  to  challenge  the  admiring 
gaze.  Every  species  of  composition  —  science,  art, 
history,  and  philosophy  ;  every  form  of  poetry  and 
prose  —  is  poured  out  from  the  groaning  press  with 
lavish  prodigality,  if  not  cloying  affluence.  Nor 
are  the  attractions  of  intellect  alone  sufficient  to 
satisfy  the  taste  of  the  age :  every  art  of  embellish- 
ment which  the  pencil  and  the  graver  can  bestow,  is 
put  in  requisition,  and  even  when  the  pages  are  pre- 
pared, invention  is  often  put  to  the  rack,  to  furnish  an 
exterior  covering  suited  to  the  gorgeous  text.  The 
spirit  of  activity  which  animates  the  press  at  the  present 
day  is  happily  depicted  in  a  dashing  passage  which  we 
quote  from  a  newspaper  of  the  day.* 

"  Although,  in  this  age  of  universal  education,  when 
there  are  almost  as  many  book-makers  as  book-readers, 
the  press  —  English  and  American — teems  with  the 
varied  products  of  learning,  inquiry,  and  fancy,  the 
supply  yet  appears  unequal  to  the  constant  and  insa- 
tiable demand.  The  literary  palate  seems  cloyed  with 
indigenous  food,  and  craves  incessantly  for  exotics. 
Accordingly  we  find  that  foreign  literature  claims  a 

*  The  New  Orleans  Bee 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

very  considerable  portion  of  public  attention.  The 
English  have  crossed  the  Channel  on  one  hand,  and 
the  German  Ocean  on  the  otlier,  and  have  laid  hold, 
with  equal  avidity,  of  the  fictions  of  France  and  the 
substantial  literary  monuments  of  their  Saxon  progeni- 
tors. The  number  of  works  recently  rendered  into 
English  from  French  and  German,  is  absolutely  aston- 
ishing. The  shelves  of  our  booksellers  groan  beneath 
the  accumulated  treasures.  In  French  literature,  the 
industrious  have  culled  from  every  field  —  presenting 
us  with  the  obscene  frivolities  of  Paul  de  Kock, 
scarcely  redeemed  by  the  intense  nationality  of  his 
portraits  ;  the  vivid  and  graphic  pictures  exhibited  in 
the  novels  of  Sue  and  Soulis ;  and  the  powerful,  eru- 
dite, and  elaborate  historical  researches  of  Thiers  and 
others.  In  Germany,  they  have  made  every  branch 
of  intellectual  knowledge  contribute  to  satisfy  our 
appetite  —  the  whole  race  of  German  novelists,  until 
recently  an  ignotum  genus,  have  been  laid  before  won- 
dering English  eyes  for  the  first  time.  Tieck  and 
Zschokke,  and  other  unpronounceable  cognomina,  stare 
at  us  from  book-shelves  and  literary  depots.  Jean 
Paul  Richter's  sublimated  idealities  have  assumed  the 
English  garb  ;  Kant's  metaphysical  and  transcen- 
dental incomprehensibilities  have  found  a  deeper  depth 
of  mysticism  in  the  futile  attempt  to  discover  terms  in 
o  jr  stinted  vernacular  capable  of  conveying  their  mean- 
ing ;  while  strong,  sound  thinkers,  truly  Germanic  in 
the  mould  of  their  understandings,  and  in  the  super- 
human industry  with  which  they  have  grappled  with 
the  buried  treasures  of  obscure  history  and  tradition  — 
men   like  Ranke   and  Niebuhr  —  have  found    models 


1^ 


LITERATURE, 


of  English  patience  and  perseverance  in  faithful  and 
laborious  translators.  Even  Russia  —  that  ultima 
Tliule  of  literary  investigation  —  has  been  made  sub- 
sidiary to  the  epidemic  rage  fur  novelty.  Sweden  is 
ransacked,  and  has  furnished  us  a  Bremer  to  captivate 
the  fancy,  and  amend  the  heart.  Norwegian  and  Ice- 
landic literature  —  romances  of  which  Mount  Hecla 
shall  be  the  region,  and  Thor  and  Odin  the  heroes  — 
are  alone  wanting  to  complete  the  categoiy." 

We  cannot  better  close  this  preliminary  sketch  of 
the  origin  and  progress  of  literature,  than  by  present- 
mg  the  following  rapid  outline  of  the  lives  of  the  most 
celebrated  authors  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  written 
with  a  view  to  repel  the  vulgar  imputation  of  poverty 
to  literary  men  :  — 

"Bad  authors  have  been  always  poor  —  as  it  is 
quite  fair  that  they  should  be  ;  upon  the  same  principle 
that  bad  painters,  or  bad  architects,  or  bad  boot-makers, 
or  bad  carpenters,  or  bad  any  things,  have  been  and 
always  must  be  poor ;  for  the  rule  applies  equally  to 
tables  and  tragedies,  sermons  and  shoes.  Bad  writers 
have  always  existed  in  a  much  greater  number  than 
good  ;  and,  their  works  being  most  deservedly  neglect- 
ed, or  as  deservedly  ridiculed,  they  complained  very 
loudly  and  very  absurdly  :  they  were  unfit  for  writing  ; 
therefore  they  refused  to  turn  bricklayers :  they  lived 
in  poverty,  and  died  in  want,  because  they  persisted  in 
writing  books  which  nobody  would  read  ;  and  the 
worse  writers  they  were,  the  more,  of  course,  they 
cried  out  against  the  injustice  with  which  they  were 
treated,  and  the  poverty  to  which  they  were  con- 
demned. 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

"  Mr.  D' Israeli  has  composed  two  corpulent  volumes 
about  their  '  Calamities,'  to  which  we  shall  presently 
recur ;  and  the  history  must  be  allowed  to  be  suf- 
ficiently melancholy,  though  any  reader  of  that  diligent 
compiler's  '  Calamities  of  Authors,'  cannot  fail  to  be 
convinced,  that  all  the  miseries  of  all  these  gentlemen 
arose  from  their  having  mistaken  their  vocation  —  that 
they  were  either  utterly  bad  writers,  or  prodigal  per- 
sons, who  would  have  ruined  themselves  under  any 
circumstances  ;  and  that  a  history  of  the  calamities  of 
incapable  tailors,  or  inept  shoemakers,  may  be  made 
up  by  some  one  belonging  to  these  classes  of  operatives^ 
which  shall  contain  as  pathetic  pictures  of  the  public 
leglect,  or  condemnation  of  their  works,  as  Mr.  D'ls- 
raeli  has  assembled  in  his  collection  of  calamities. 

"  The  wits  and  satirists  of  the  age  in  which  these 
bad  writers  lived,  found  their  poverty  an  excellent  sub- 
ject for  mirth  and  ridicule ;  and  extending  it  to  the 
whole  tribe  of  authors,  they  consecrated  to  their  use 
forever 

'  Want,  the  garret,  and  the  jail.' 

"  To  say  nothing  of  the  Greeks,  —  Horace,  Martial, 
Chaucer,  Ariosto,  Cervantes,  Spenser,  Shakspcare, 
Butler,  Milton,  Moliore,  Drydon,  Boileau,  Prior,  Swift, 
Congreve,  Addison,  Le  Sage,  Pope,  Gay,  Arbuthnot,  Vol- 
taire, Johnson,  Fielding,  Smollett,  Rousseau,  —  comic 
writers,  poets,  epigrammatists,  satirists,  novelists,  wits, 
—  all  have  joined  in  representing  authors  as  poor,  for 
the  sake  of  the  jests  that  have  since  set  many  a  table 
'.n  a  roar.  But  let  our  readers  recur  to  our  list,  and 
•  ney  will  see  that  tie  names  of  those  who  have  thus 


20  '  LITERATURE. 

held  up  authors  to  ruJiculc  arc  the  most  successful 
whom  the  Muse  has  '  admitted  of  her  crew  ; '  that 
they  are  among  the  most  eminent  names  in  ancient 
and  modern  Hlerature  ;  that  they  all  lived  in  comfort, 
and  some  even  in  opulence ;  that  those  who  were  not 
rich,  were  poor  from  causes  totally  independent  of 
their  literary  vocation  —  and  let  it  be  remembered 
that  no  complaint  has  ever  been  made,  in  prose  or 
rhyme,  by  any  author,  of  the  general  poverty  of  his 
tribe,  except  for  the  sake  of  pointing  a  jest,  or  height- 
ening a  picture. 

"  We  trust  our  readers  will  excuse  us  for  omitting 
all  investigation  into  the  private  circumstances  of 
Hermes  Trismegistus,  the  inventor  of  the  Egyptian 
Statutes  at  Large  ;  of  Cadmus,  the  inventor  of  the 
(jreek  letters,  and  consequently  the  cause  of  the  intro- 
duction of  birch  into  English  schools ;  of  Amphion, 
Orpheus,  and  other  great  poets  of  those  days ;  and 
even  of  Zoroaster,  the  hero  of  many  a  novel,  and 
some  pantomimes.  The  most  fastidious  admirer  of 
antiquity,  we  are  persuaded,  will  be  satisfied  with  such 
a  respectable  age  as  that  of  Hcsiod  and  Homer,  which 
carries  us  back  ten  centuries  before  the  birth  of  Christ ; 
and,  in  taking  this  for  our  point  of  starting,  we  think 
we  may  fairly  be  allowed  to  have  complied  with  the 
judicious  advice  given  by  the  Giant  Moulineau  to  Count 
Hamilton's  historiographical  ram,  to  '  begin  with  tho 
beginning.' 

"  The  father  of  Hesiod,  it  is  quite  clear,  left  behind 
him  an  estate  :  this  was  to  have  been  divided  between 
the  poet  and  his  brother  Perses  :  the  latter  corrupted 
the  judges,  and   defrauded   him  ;  yet,  notwithstanding 


INTRODUCTION.  21 

this,  he  tells  us,  in  various  passages  of  his  poems,  that 
he  was  not  only  above  want,  but  capable  of  assisting 
others.  The  name  of  Homer  has  passed  into  a  prov- 
erb of  poverty ;  yet  Thestoridcs  made  a  vast  fortune 
by  reciting  the  poems  of  Homer  as  his  own.  Homer 
was  indeed  a  mendicant  for  some  time;  but  this  was 
only  while  he  was  regarded  as  an  impostor,  pretending 
to  be  the  author  of  poems  which  he  did  not  compose. 
His  subsequent  eflfusions,  however,  disclosed  the  true 
author  of  the  Iliad  ;  and  he  died  in  happiness,  affluence, 
and  honor. 

"  Passing  over  the  intervening  centuries,  in  which 
no  very  eminent  names  of  authoi*s  appear,  we  arrive 
at  the  fifth  and  si.xth  B.  C.  Anacreon,  according  to 
Madame  Dacier,  was  related  to  Solon,  and  was  conse- 
quently allied  to  the  Codrida?,  the  noblest  family  in 
Athens.  Few  events  of  his  life  are  known  ;  but  this 
fact  is  enough  to  prove  that  he  could  not,  at  all  events, 
have  been  poor.  We  know,  however,  that  he  was  the 
friend  of  kings  —  of  Polycratcs  and  Hipparchus  :  it  is 
pretty  clear,  from  his  poems,  that  he  lived  in  luxury, 
which  poor  authors  seldom  do  ;  and  his  death  was 
caused  by  swallowing  a  grape-stone  in  drinking  some 
neAV  wine.  Pindar  was  not  noble,  like  Anacreon  • 
he  was  even  of  low  origin  ;  but  this  did  not  prevent 
him  from  being  courted  by  princes,  and  honored  like  a 
deity  in  his  lifetime.  Even  the  priestess  of  Delphi 
ordained  him  a  share  of  the  oflcrings  to  the  god : 
statues  were  erected  in  honor  of  him,  during  his  life, 
by  his  patron,  Hiero  of  Syracuse  ;  and  he  died  in  a 
public  theatre,  which  would  seem  to  argue  mat  his 
life   was  not  particularly  unhappy.     The    brother  of 


22  LITERATURE. 

^Eschylus  commanded  a  squadron  of  ships  at  the  battle 
of  Salamis ;  the  poet  himself  was  largely  patronized 
by  Hiero  of  Syracuse ;  his  funeral  was  splendid,  and 
plays  were  performed  at  his  tomb  in  honor  of  his 
memory. 

"  Of  the  condition  of  Sophocles  little  is  known  ;  but 
he  must  have  been  left  in  easy  circumstances  by  his 
father,  since  the  latter,  according  to  Athenajus,  was 
rich  enough  to  afford  the  vast  expense  of  educating  his 
son  in  all  the  polite  accomplishments  of  his  polite 
country :  he  was  taught  music  and  dancing  by  Lam- 
pros,  and  poetry  by  ^'Eschylus.  He  filled  some  of  the 
highest  offices  in  the  state  ;  and  Strabo  mentions  him 
as  accompanying  Pericles  in  his  expedition  to  conquer 
the  rebel  Samians.  Herodotus  certainly  had  the 
means  of  travelling  during  a  great  portion  of  his  life  ; 
and  he  must  have  been  no  inconsiderable  person, 
since  his  influence  contributed  mainly  to  the  expulsion 
of  the  tyrant  Lygdamis.  Euripides  was  of  noble 
descent,  and  prime  minister  to  Archelaus  of  Macedon. 
Thucydides  was  of  the  royal  blood  of  the  Thracian 
kings ;  he  had  a  high  command  in  the  army,  and 
joined  to  his  own  affluence  many  rich  mines  of  gold, 
which  he  acquired  by  marriage.  Plato  was  descended 
on  the  paternal  side  from  Codrus,  on  the  maternal 
from  Solon ;  and  though  it  does  not  appear  that  he 
was  very  wealthy,  it  is  certain  that  he  lived  delight- 
fully in  the  elegant  retreat  purchased  with  his  own 
drachmas  — 

'  The  olive-grove  of  Academe, 


His  sweet  retirement,  where  the  Attic  bird 
Trilled  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long. 


INTRODUCTION.  23 

There  he  lived,  the  unambitious  friend  and  counsellor 
of  kings,  amidst  his  statues,  his  temples,  and  his  cy- 
presses;  and,  reposing  by  the  whispering  and  haunted 
stream  which  flowed  through  them,  he  meditated  the 
peace  on  earth  and  happiness  to  men,  which  he  after- 
wards taught  in  the  language  of  the  gods,  whose  elo- 
quence he  was  said  by  his  panegyrists  to  have  stolen. 

"Descending  to  the  fourth  century  B.  C,  we  come 
to  Aristophanes  ;  but  of  his  circumstances  we  know 
nothing.  Even  if  it  were  proved,  however,  that  they 
were  indiflcrent,  we  should  not  be  justified  in  making 
him  an  exception  ;  for  his  whole  life  was  one  long  and 
self-sought  war  whh  powerful  living  adversaries,  and 
therefore  could  not  be  very  happy.  Aristotle,  after 
the  death  of  his  friend  Plato,  visited  Hermias,  king  of 
the  Atarnenses.  On  the  fall  of  the  latter,  he  erected 
a  statue  to  him,  and  afterwards  married  his  sister 
Pythias.  He  was,  moreover,  as  every  one  knows,  the 
master  and  the  friend  of  Alexander  the  Great.  Me- 
nandcr  was  probably  rich,  from  the  fact  of  his  adora- 
tion of  the  expensive  Glycera :  he  alludes  also  fre- 
quently to  his  own  habits  of  luxurious  dress.  The 
kings  of  Eg\'pt  and  Macedon  so  highly  honored  and 
esteemed  him,  that  they  sent  ambassadors  to  invite, 
and  fleets  to  convey,  him  to  their  courts.  Xenophcm 
wa-s  of  high  rank,  a  commander  in  the  army,  and  the 
favorite  of  Cyrus;  and  the  father  of  Demosthenes,  we 
know,  left  him  enough  of  property  to  make  it  worth 
his  while  to  plead  for  its  recovery  from  the  hands  of 
iniquitous  guardians.  What  a  fortune  would  amount 
to,  that  should  render  such  a  proceeding  in  a  court  ot 


9|||  LITERATURE. 

equity  at  the  present  day  at  all  judicious,  our  readers 
may  ascertain  by  the  aid  of  a  very  powerful  calculus. 

"  In  the  third  and  second  centuries,  we  hive  Theoc- 
ritus, who  was  patronized  by  Ptolemy  Philadelphus, 
and  lived  at  his  court;  Plautus,  a  slave,  who,  after 
gaining  a  great  deal  of  money  by  his  plays,  lost  it  in 
commercial  speculations ;  and  lastly,  Terence,  who, 
though  a  slave,  rose  to  be  the  intimate  friend  of  Scipio 
and  La^lius,  and  whose  wealth,  gained  by  his  comedies, 
enabled  him  to  marry  his  daughter  to  a  Roman  noble.' 
He  received  three  thousand  sesterces  for  one  perform- 
ance of  the  Eunuch  alone  ;  and  as  it  was  usual  to 
pay  the  author  of  a  play  each  time  it  was  performed, 
the  sums  which  Terence  received  must  have  been 
enormous.     He  left  a  splendid  house  and  gardens. 

"  The  first  century  B.  C,  and  the  first  after,  present 
ns  with  a  long  list  of  noble  and  opulent  authors.  Of 
the  life  of  Lucretius  few  particulars  are  known.  Cicero 
was  of  a  noble  family ;  he  was  successively  quaestor, 
praetor,  and  consul,  and  might  have  been  a  fourth 
party  in  the  government  formed  by  Pompey,  Caesar, 
and  Crassus.  His  wealth  must  have  been  great ;  for 
he  gave  for  his  house  on  the  Palatine,  alone,  a  sum 
exceeding  <£30,000  sterling.  The  father  of  Catullus 
was  the  friend  of  Julius  Csesar ;  Catullus  himself  was 
praetor,  and  afterwards  governor  of  Bithynia ;  and 
Lesbia  was  the  sister  of  the  noble  and  rich  Clodius,  the 
enemy  of  Cicero. 

"  Virgil  inherited  a  patrimony  from  his  father  at 
Mantua ;  was  enriched  by  Augustus,  and  received  a 
sum  equivalent  to  ^2000  sterling  for  his  verses  about 


INTRODUCTION.  2B 

Marcellus  alone.  Tibullus  was  the  son  of  a  knight, 
and  a  man  of  fortune.  Propertius  was  also  noble,  and 
possessed  of  a  considerable  estate  ;  he  was  the  friend 
of  Maecenas  and  Gallus.  Horace  was,  to  be  sure,  the 
son  of  a  freedman ;  but  that  freedman  was  a  tax- 
gatherer,  and,  it  is  almost  needless  to  say,  rich.  His 
father's  estate  was,  for  some  reason  or  no  reason,  con- 
fiscated by  the  government,  but  restored  to  Horace  by 
Augustus.  The  emperor  offered  him  the  office  of 
private  secretary ;  but  he  refused  all  court  honors. 
Ovid  was  the  younger  son  of  a  Roman  noble,  and,  on 
the  death  of  his  elder  brother,  inherited  his  fortune. 
Livy  was  of  an  illustrious  and  wealthy  family,  which 
had  given  many  consuls  to  Rome.  Seneca,  the  tutor 
of  Nero,  was  quaestor,  praetor,  and  consul.  His  houses, 
gardens,  and  walks,  were  the  most  magnificent  in 
Rome;  and  he  had  received  of  the  public  money  more 
than  two  millions  and  a  half  sterling  in  about  four 
years.  Persius  was  opulent,  and  bequeathed  a  large 
fortune  to  his  friend  Cornutus.  Pliny  the  Elder  arrived 
at  the  high  dignity  of  augur;  he  was  procurator,  or 
treasurer,  to  Tiberius,  and  was  ofiered,  for  part  of  his 
MSS.,  400,000  sesterces.  Juvenal's  father  was  a  freed- 
man—  a  class  generally  rich  at  Rome.  He,  at  all 
events,  gave  his  son  a  liberal  and  learned  education. 
Pliny  the  Younger  was  augur,  consul,  proconsul  of 
Bithynia,  and  the  friend  of  Trajan.  Martial  was  en- 
nobled by  Domitian,  and  married  a  wife  so  rich,  that 
(to  use  his  own  words)  '  she  made  him  a  kind  of 
monarch.'  Quinctilian  was  paid  liberally  out  of  the 
public  treasury  for  teaching  oratory  under  Galba :  ho 
was  patronized  by  Domitian,  became  consul,  and  died 
rviL— 3 


26  LITERATURE. 

rich.  Tacitus  was  son-in-law  of  Agricola,  and  pat- 
ronized by  Vespasian,  Titus,  and  Domitian.  It  nnay 
be  inferred  that  his  family  was  wealthy  and  powerful, 
from  the  fact  that  M.  Claudius  Tacitus,  who  was  cre- 
ated emperor  in  A.  D.  275,  was  descended  from  him. 
The  father  of  Lucan,  a  Roman  knight,  was  brother  to 
Seneca,  one  of  the  weaUliiest  men  in  Rome.  Lucan 
himself  was  opulent,  and  filled  the  offices  of  quaestor 
and  augur. 

"The  second,  third,  fourth,  fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh 
centuries  after  Christ  do  not  present  us  with  many 
names  :  we  shall  therefore  class  them  all  in  one  para- 
graph, which  will  bring  us  down  to  ?nodcrn  authors. 

"  Plutarch  was  of  an  old  family  :  his  lectures  were 
highly  popular  with  the  Roman  nobility,  and  he  was 
the  friend  of  Trajan.  Apuleius  was  a  successful 
lawyer,  and  married  a  very  rich  widow.  Longinus 
was  tutor  to  the  children  of  Zenobia.  Mahomet  was 
related  to  the  heads  of  one  of  the  noblest  and  wealthi- 
est of  the  Arab  tribes  ;  and  he  himself  was  as  wealthy 
as  he  was  successful. 

"  The  eleventh,  twelfth,  thirteenth,  and  fourteenth 
centuries  we  shall  gather,  like  the  last,  under  a  single 
head. 

"  Dante  was  descended  from  one  of  the  greatest  fam- 
ilies in  Florence,  and  held  a  distinguished  place  at  his 
native  city.  It  is'true  that  the  political  events  of  his 
lime,  in  which  he  mingled,  occasioned  his  exile  and 
poverty  ;  but  he  died  in  a  palace.  Petrarch  was  the 
son  of  a  wealthy  Italian  notary.  He  was  the  friend  of 
the  Colonnas,  and  resided  in  their  palaces,  and  was 
familiar  with  kings,  emperors,  and  pontiffs.     Boccac- 


INTRODUCTION.  27 

cio  was  the  son  of  a  Florentine  merchant,  when  mer- 
chants were  princes :  he  inherited  property  from  his 
father,  and  was  beloved  by  the  daughter  of  the  king, 
(Robert,)  who  was  his  patron.  Chaucer,  according  to 
Leland,  was  of  noble  origin  :  he  was  appointed  am- 
bassador to  Genoa  by  Edward  III.,  and  possessed 
i£lOOO  a  year  —  an  enormous  income  for  that  period. 

"  We  have  now  arrived  at  the  fifteenth  century. 
Pulci  was  the  intimate  and  jocular  friend  of  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent.  Sannazaro  was  patronized  by  Fred- 
eric, son  of  the  king  of  Naples,  from  whom  he  received 
a  pension  and  the  beautiful  country-house  of  Mergel- 
lina:  he  was  courted  by  all  the  great  of  his  time,  and 
enjoyed  the  friendship  of  two  popes.  Marot  Uved 
among  princes.  Erasmus  was  not  rich  ;  but  then  he 
never  lived  long  in  one  place,  and  always  expensively 
and  luxuriously.  Macchiavelli  was  secretary  of  the 
Florentine  republic.  Bojarda  was  a  man  of  large  pos- 
sessions, and  count  of  Scandiano.  Ariosto  was  of  a 
noble  family,  was  patronized  by  the  Este  family,  and 
by  Leo  X. ;  and  he  must  have  had  some  pretensions 
to  wealth  and  influence,  since  he  expected  a  cardinal's 
hat.  Guicciardini  was  of  a  noble  Florentine  family, 
the  chief  counsellor  in  Florence,  married  the  daughter 
of  the  most  distinguished  person  there,  and  was  created 
governor  of  Bologna  by  the  pope.  Rabelais  lived  a 
joyous  and  luxurious  life,  both  us  a  Benedictine  monk 
and  as  cure  of  Mcudon. 

"  We  are  rapidly  approaching  more  familiar  names, 
for  we  arc  now  arrived  at  the  sixteenth  century. 
Buchanan  is  the  first  Though  tutor  to  a  prince  and 
to  tlie  most  interesting  and  seductive  of  queens,  we 


US  LITERATURE. 

fear  his  temper  and  his  tastes  were  too  much  like  those 
of  Erasmus  to  allow  us  to  class  him  with  the  rich  in 
our  catalogue.  He  was,  moreover,  addicted  to  per- 
sonalities and  to  quarrels,  which  made  him  disliked  in 
his  own  country,  and  caused  him  to  be  persecuted  in 
others.  The  name  which  comes  next  in  our  catalogue 
has  passed  into  a  proverb  of  poverty  —  but  unjustly. 
The  misfortunes  of  Camoens  arose  from  causes  alto- 
gether independent  of  his  literary  pursuits.  If  he  met 
with  misfortunes,  his  poetical  genius,  so  far  from  being 
the  cause  of  them,  tended  to  alleviate  tlieir  bitternessj 
and  gained  him  honor,  friends,  and  (at  one  time) 
riches.  Montaigne  was  a  countiy  gentleman  of  for- 
tune. Tasso  was  courted  and  happy  up  to  the  period 
of  his  insanity  ;  for  he  was  undoubtedly  insane. 

"  Cervantes  was  chamberlain  to  one  cardinal,  pen- 
sioned by  another,  and  patronized  by  a  viceroy  ;  and 
his  Don  Quixote  was  so  popular,  that  12,000  copies 
of  the  first  part  were  sold  before  the  second  was 
printed.  Sydney  was  a  candidate  for  the  crown  of 
Poland.  Spenser  had  fifty  pounds  a  year  as  poet 
laureate,  (no  inconsiderable  sum  in  those  days ;) 
he  was  sheriff  of  Cork,  with  3000  acres  of  land  ;  and 
was  patronized  by  Elizabeth,  Lord  Essex,  and  the 
noble  family  to  which  he  belonged.  De  Thou  and 
Sully  were  statesmen.  Bacon  was  lord  chancellor  of 
England,  and  enormously  rich. 

"  Lope  de  Vega  was  a  knight  of  Malta,  and  held  a 
rich  office  under  Urban  VIII.  Calderon  de  la  Barca 
was  first  a  knight  of  St.  lago,  and  afterwards  a  fat  and 
comfortable  canon  of  Toledoi.  To  return  to  our  own 
authors :    Shakspeare  made  a  fortune,  and   died  the 


INTRODUCTION.  29 

richest  man  in  Stratford-upon-Avon.  Jonson  gained 
prodigious  sums  by  his  plays,  though  his  extravagant 
and  careless  life  made  him  always  poor.  Little  is 
known  of  the  private  lives  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher ; 
but  we  know  that  Beaumont\s  father  was  a  judge,  and 
Fletcher's  a  bishop.  Grotius  was  a  wealthy  lawyer 
and  statesman  ;  Selden  a  member  of  parliament.  Of 
Massinger  we  know  nothing  but  that  his  plays  were 
popular.  Of  Ford  we  know  almost  as  little;  but  at 
all  events,  he  was  the  son  of  a  justice  of  the  peace. 
Butler's  misfortunes  were  owing  to  the  times,  and  the 
character  of  the  reigning  monarch ;  and  ^3000  were 
ordered  to  be  paid  to  the  author  of  Hudibras,  though 
he  never  received  the  money.  Ilobbes  lived  in  easy 
circumstances  at  Chatsworth.  Even  after  Charles 
withdrew  his  patronage  from  him,  he  was  visited,  in 
his  old  age,  by  the  most  illustrious  men  of  his  time, 
and  by  princes  and  ambassadors.  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
was  a  wealthy  physician. 

"  Waller  was  rich,  a  member  of  parliament,  and  a 
favorite  at  court.  Corneille  was  not  only  the  most 
successful  author  of  his  day,  but  he  was  pensioned  by 
Richelieu.  Milton  left  behind  him  iC1500;  but  even 
if  it  could  be  shown  that  he  was  poor,  his  persecutions 
on  political  accounts,  and  the  fanaticism  of  the  times, 
would  account  for  his  poverty.  Cowley  lived  in  ele- 
gant retirement,  and  his  poetry  was  eminently  success- 
ful. Moliere  was  poor,  till  he  made  a  fortune  by  his 
plays.  La  Fontaine  was  a  gentleman,  and  married  a 
rich  wife.  Jeremy  Taylor  was  a  bishop.  Dryden 
was  a  person  of  old  family  ;  and  he  gained  by  his 
writings  at  least  ^500  a  year — equal  to  ^1500  at 
3* 


90  LITEEATUBE. 

the  present  day.  Boileau  gained  an  ample  pension  by 
his  writings ;  so  did  Racine.  Bayle's  works  caused 
him  twice  to  be  chosen  professor  of  philosophy.  Fen- 
elon  was  a  rich  archbishop.  Prior  was  an  ambassador. 
Swift  died  rich  ;  so  did  Congreve,  Addison,  Gay,  and 
Pope.  Le  Sage  was  the  most  popular  of  novel-writers, 
and  an  eminently  successful  dramatist.  When  Steele 
lost  the  patent  of  his  theatre,  he  computed  the  loss  at 
ten  thousand  pounds.  Marivaux  was  one  of  the  most 
successful  of  authors.  Arbuthnot  was  the  court  physi- 
cian. Vanbrugh  was  poor,  but  this  was  in  spite  of 
his  success  as  an  author  and  architect,  and  his  enjoy- 
ment of  some  of  the  most  lucrative  situations  under  the 
crown.  Richardson  died  as  rich  as  a  Jew ;  so  did 
Voltaire. 

^'  We  now  arrive  at  the  eighteenth  century.  Thom- 
son, in  spite  of  his  indolence,  obtained  several  lucrative 
situations  under  government,  in  consequence  of  his 
works.  Dr.  Johnson  got  a  pension,  and  might  have 
become  rich  by  means  of  his  writings,  had  he  not 
been  the  most  indolent  of  authors.  Franklin  raised 
himself  by  his  literary  talents.  Fielding's  profuse  ex- 
travagance swallowed  up  the  profits  of  his  successes  as 
an  author ;  but  he  died  a  justice  of  the  peace.  Lin- 
naeus had  a  grant  of  land  conferred  on  him  for  his  dis- 
coveries, and  he  was  ennobled  by  the  king  of  Sweden. 
Hume  had  nothing,  till  his  works  procured  him  .£1000 
a  year. 

"Rousseau's  name  is  not  worth  mentioning  here  : 
his  miseries  and  poverty  were  voluntary.  Grimm  and 
Diderot  received  large  pensions  for  their  literary  merits. 
Sterne  passed  his  life  in  painting,  fiddling,  and  shoot- 


INTJIODUCTION.  31 

ing  —  occupations  not  at  all  indicative  of  poverty. 
Garrick,  who  died  very  rich,  made  his  fortune  as  an 
author  and  aclor.  Smollett  received  large  sums  for 
all  his  works.  Goldsmith  was  in  the  last  stage  of  pov- 
erty, till  his  writings  raised  liim  to  independence. 
Burke  was  a  statesman.  Cowper  received  vast  sums 
for  his  works :  so  did  Gibbon ;  yet  Cowper  had  a 
private  fortune,  and  Gibbon  had  held  lucrative  situa- 
tions under  the  crown.  Chatterton,  indeed,  died  poor ; 
but  he  had  employment  from  his  literary  patrons  as 
long  as  he  chose  to  accept  it.  Burns  was  poor,  not  in 
consequence  of  being  an  author,  but  in  spite  of  it. 
Schiller,  Goethe,  and  Werner,  were  all  enriched  or 
ennobled  by  their  poetry. 

"  Here  we  close  our  catalogue  ;  for  we  do  not  venture 
to  quote  examples  from  the  writers  of  our  own  times. 
But  it  may  be  stated  in  general,  and  hundreds  of  in- 
stances will  occur  to  the  memory  of  every  one,  that 
there  is  scarcely  one  eminent  individual  of  the  present 
day,  who  docs  not  owe  his  riches,  or  rise,  or  distinc- 
tions, in  some  way  to  literature.  Let  our  readers 
refer  to  the  list  we  liave  given  above,  and  they  will 
see  that  scarcely  one  great,  or  even  second-rate  name 
in  literature  has  been  omitted,  and  that  on  not  one  can 
ihe  reproach  of  poverty  in  consequence  of  authorship 
fall ;  while  it  will  be  uniformly  seen  that  literary  meri* 
has  been  always  of  advantage  to  those  who  were  un- 
fortunate from  other  causes.  We  have  carefully 
looked  over  Mr.  D'lsracli's  '  Calamities  of  Authors,' 
and  have  found,  without  one  exception,  either  that  the 
authors  who  suffered  the  calamities  in  question  were 
had  authors,  or  that  the  'calamities'  alluded  to 
consisted   in   a   little    gentle    castigation   in   rcviewa. 


;8gS  litebatube. 

ridicule  in  popular  novels,  or  the  infliction  of  a 
satirical  couplet." 

To  the  examples  of  literary  success,  cited  in  the 
preceding  extract  from  the  London  Monthly  Magazine, 
we  may  add  the  following  statement,  showing  the  enor- 
mous sums  received  by  English  authors  of  our  own 
times. 

For  Fragments  of  English  History,  by  C.  J.  Fox,  sold  by 
Lord  Holland,  5000  guineas. 

For  ditto,  by  Sir  J.  Mackintosh,  £5000. 

For  Lingard's  History,  £4633. 

Scott's  Bonaparte,  £10,000,  first  two  editions. 

Life  of  Wilbcrforce,  by  his  sons,  4000  guineas. 

Life  of  Byron,  by  Moore,  £1000. 

Life  of  Sheridan,  by  the  same,  £2000. 

Life  of  Cowper,  by  Southey,  £1000.    Life  of  H.  More,  £2000. 

Life  of  Scott,  by  Lockhart,  £12,500,  for  the  first  two  years. 

Byron's  Works,  £20,000. 

Lalia  Rookh,  by  Moore,  £3000.     Rejected  Addresses,  £1000. 

Half  share  of  Lord  of  the  Isles,  by  Scott,  £1500. 

New  edition  of  Crabbe's  works,  £3000.  Ditto  of  Words- 
worth's, £1000. 

Bulwer,  £1200  to  £1500,  for  each  of  his  novels;  for  each 
of  Marryatt's,  £1000  to  £1200. 

Mrs.  Trollope's  Factory  Boy,  £1800. 

Scott  is  supposed  to  have  received,  during  his  lifetime, 
£250,000.  Hannah  More  received  £3000  a  year,  during  the 
latter  years  of  her  life. 

The  editors  of  several  Reviews — as  the  Edinburgh,  Quar- 
terly, Blackwood,  New  Monthlj'  —  receive  an  average  of  £1000- 

The  net  income  of  some  of  the  leading  newspapers  of  Lon- 
don is  said  to  reach  £10,000  to  £20,000  per  annum. 

In  the  United  States,  we  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
a  distinct  class  of  literary  men,  or  a  national  literature  : 
yet  the  works  of  authors  of  decided  merit,  such  as 
Irving,  Cooper,  Sparks,  Prescott,  and  Bancroft,  have 
been  a  source  of  liberal  income. 


THE   BIBLE. 


As  furnishing  the  oldest  specimens  of  literature,  the 
most  ancient  written  thoughts  of  man,  the  Bible  may 
claim  a  brief  notice  in  these  pages.  Merely  in  a 
literary  point  of  view,  it  is  the  most  remarkable  work 
now  in  existence.  In  the  libraries  of  the  learned  there 
are  frequently  seen  books  of  extraordinaiy  anti- 
quity, and  curious  and  interesting  from  the  nature  of 
their  contents ;  but  none  approach  the  Bible,  taken  in 
its  complete  sense,  in  point  of  age,  while  certainly  no 
production  whatever  has  any  pretension  to  rival  it  in 
dignity  of  composition,  or  the  important  nature  of 
the  subjects  treated  of  in  its  pages.  The  word  Bible 
is  of  Greek  origin,  and,  in  signifying  simply  the  Book, 
is  expressive  of  its  superiority  over  all  other  literary 
productions.  The  origin  and  nature  of  this  every  way 
wonderful  work — how  it  was  preserved  during  the 
most  remote  ages,  and  how  it  became  known  to  the 
modern  world  in  its  present  shape  — form  a  highly  in- 
teresting chapter  of  literary  history. 

The  Bible  comprehends  the  foundation  of  the  re- 
ligious belief  of  the  Jews  and  Christians,  and  is  divided 
into  two  distinct  portions,  entitled  tiie  Old  and  New 
Testament,  —  the  former  being  that  which  is  esteemed 
by  the  Jewish  nation,  but  both  Ireing  essential  In 
c 


34  LITERATURE. 

forming  the  faith  of  the  Christian.  The  Old  Testa- 
ment is  the  largest  department  of  the  work,  and  appears 
to  be  a  collection  of  detached  histories,  moral  essays, 
and  pious  poetical  compositions,  all  placed  together  in 
the  order  of  time,  or  as  they  may  serve  for  the  purpose 
of  mutual  illustration.  On  taking  a  glance  at  the  con- 
tents, the  principal  subject  of  narration  seems  to  be  the 
history  of  the  Je^v•s,  commencing  with  an  account  of 
the  creation  of  the  world,  and  tracing  their  annals, 
genealogically,  through  a  series  of  striking  vicissitudes 
and  changes  of  situation.  But  when  we  examine  the 
narratives  minutely,  it  is  found  that  there  is  another 
meaning  than  that  of  mere  historical  elucidation.  It  is 
perceived  that  the  whole  train  of  events  recorded,  the 
whole  of  those  lofty,  impassioned  strains  of  poetry 
which  distinguish  the  volume,  are  precursory  and 
prophetic  of  a  great  change,  which,  at  a  future  period, 
was  to  be  wrought  on  the  moral  character  and  fate  of 
mankind,  by  the  coming  to  the  earth  of  a  Messiah. 

The  writers,  generally  speaking,  do  not  reason,  but 
exhort  and  remonstrate  ;  they  do  not  attempt  to  fette: 
the  judgment  by  the  subtleties  of  argument,  but  to 
rouse  the  feelings  by  an  appeal  to  palpable  facts.  But 
though  there  is  no  regular  treatise  in  the  Scriptures  or 
any  one  branch  of  religious  doctrine,  yet  all  the  mate- 
rials of  a  regular  system  are  there.  The  word  of  GoQ 
contains  the  doctrines  of  religion  in  the  same  way  as 
the  system  of  nature  contains  the  elements  of  physical 
science.  In  both  cases,  the  doctrines  are  deduced 
from  facts,  which  are  not  presented  to  us  in  any 
regular  order,  and  which  must  be  separated  and  classi- 
fied before  we  can  arrive  at  first  principles,  or  attain 


THE    BIBLE.  35 

to  the  certainty  of  knowledge  ;  and  in  both  cases,  a 
consistent  system  can  only  be  made  out  by  induction 
and  investigation.  The  very  circumstance  of  no  de- 
tailed system  being  given,  renders  it  necessary  to  form 
one  ;  for  although  a  portion  of  religious  and  physical 
knowledge,  sufTicicnt  for  the  common  purposes  of  life, 
may  be  obtained  by  traditional  information,  and  men 
may  work  conveniently  enough  by  rules  without  pos- 
sessing much  general  knowledge,  yet  they  who  would 
teach  with  profit  must  generalize,  and  they  who  would 
explain  the  ways  of  God  must  arrange  the  materials 
which  are  so  amply  furnished,  but  which  are  presented 
apparently  without  order  or  plan. 

The  periods  when  the  act  of  writmg  all  or  the  greater 
part  of  the  Scriptures  took  place,  as  well  as  most  cf 
the  names  of  those  who  were  instrumental  in  forming 
the  work,  have  been  ascertained  with  considerable 
accuracy,  both  from  written  evidence  in  the  narratives 
themselves,  and  from  the  well-preserved  traditions  of 
the  Jews.  Generally  speaking,  it  cannot  be  said  that 
the  books  of  the  Old  Testament  are  of  a  less  antiquity 
than  from  two  thousand  three  hundred  to  four  thousand 
years  —  an  antiquity  considerably  greater  than  that  of 
any  profane  history.  At  whatever  time,  however,  the 
difierent  books  were  written,  they  were  not  collected 
from  the  sacred  depositories  of  the  Jews,  where  they 
had  been  carefully  placed,  till  long  after  their  im- 
mediate authors  were  deceased  ;  and  their  present 
arrangement,  as  we  shall  afterwards  explain,  is  of 
comparatively  modern  date. 

According  to  the  order  in  which  the  books  of  the 
Old  Testament  now  stand,  those  of  an  historical  nature 


Sf}'  LITERATURE. 

are  appropriately  placed  at  the  beginning.  The  first 
five  books,  having  a  chain  of  connection  throughout, 
are  Genesis,  Exodus,  Leviticus,  Numbers,  and  Deuter- 
onomy. These  are  styled  the  Pentateuch,  such  being 
the  Greek  compound  for  fwe  books.  They  are  like- 
wise entitled  the  Books  of  Moses,  from  the  belief  that 
that  enlightened  Jewish  leader  composed  them. 

The  Jews  call  tlie  Pentateuch  the  Law,  without 
doubt  because  the  law  of  God,  which  Moses  received 
on  Mount  Sinai,  is  the  principal  part  of  it ;  and  it  is 
little  to  be  doubted  whether  that  great  man  was  the 
writer  of  the  Pentateuch.  This  is  expressly  declared 
both  in  Exodus  and  Deuteronomy.  But  as  an  account 
of  the  death  of  Moses  is  given  in  the  last  eight  verses 
of  this  book,  it  is  therefore  thought  that  these  were 
added  either  by  Joshua  or  Ezra.  The  opinion 
of  Josephus  concerning  them  is  very  singular ;  he 
assumes  that  Moses,  finding  his  death  approaching, 
and  being  willing  to  prevent  an  error  into  which  the 
veneration  the  people  had  for  him  might  cause  the 
Jews  to  fall,  wrote  this  account  himself;  without  which 
the  Jews  would  probably  have  supposed  that  God  had 
taken  him  away,  like  Enoch. 

After  the  death  of  Moses,  Joshua,  by  the  order  of 
the  Divine  Being,  took  upon  himself  the  conducting  of 
the  Hebrew  people,  and  succeeded  Moses,  to  whom  he 
had  been  a  faithfil  servant,  and  by  whom  he  had  been 
instructed  in  wbdt  he  ought  to  do.  It  is  uncertain 
whether  the  book  which  contains  the  history  of  this 
successor  of  Moses  is  called  Joshua  from  the  subject 
of  it,  or  from  his  having  been  the  writer  of  it.  But  it 
is  certain  that  it  contains  an  account  of  what  passed 


THE    BIBLE.  37 

from  the  death  of  Moses  to  that  of  Joshua.  Never- 
theless, there  are  several  things  in  it  which  did  not 
come  to  pass  til!  after  the  death  of  this  great  man,  and 
which,  consequently,  could  not  have  been  written  by 
him.  The  common  opinion  as  to  the  length  of  time  it 
contains  is,  that  Joshua  discharged  his  office  only  for 
seventeen  years,  and  that,  therefore,  this  book  contains 
no  more  than  the  history  of  that  number  of  years. 

After  the  death  of  Joshua,  the  Israelites  were  gov- 
erned by  magistrates,  who  ruled  under  the  general 
designation  of  judges ;  and  the  book  which  contains 
the  history  of  these  rulers  is  called  the  Book  of  Judges. 
This  history  begins  with  the  death  of  Joshua,  and 
reaches  to  that  of  Samson.  We  here  see  the  people 
of  God  often  enslaved  in  punishment  of  their  crimes, 
and  often  wonderfully  delivered  from  bondage.  To- 
wards the  end  of  it,  we  have  some  instances  of  this 
people's  inclination  to  idolatry,  and  of  the  corruption 
of  their  manners,  even  before  they  had  been  brought 
into  slavery.  Such  arc  the  histories  of  Micah,  and  of 
the  Benjamitcs  who  abused  the  Lcvite's  wife.  This 
book  contains  the  history  of  about  three  hundred  years. 

During  the  time  of  the  government  of  judges,  there 
was  a  great  famine  in  the  land  of  Israel,  which  forced 
Elimclcch,  a  native  of  Bethlehem,  to  retire  into  the 
land  of  Moab,  with  his  wife  Naomi  and  two  cliildren. 
Elimclcch  died  there,  as  also  his  two  sons,  who  had 
married  two  Moabitish  women,  one  of  whom  was 
named  Ruth.  Naomi,  after  the  death  of  her  husband 
and  her  children,  returned  to  Rethlehem,  accompaniocl 
by  Ruth,  her  daughter-in-law,  who  was  there  married 
XVII.— 4 


38  LITERATTJRE. 

to  Boaz,  Elimelech's  near  relation,  and  the  heir  to  hia 
estate.  The  book  which  contains  this  history  is  called 
the  Book  of  Ruth.  The  beginning  of  it  shows  that  it 
happened  in  the  time  of  the  judges,  but  under  which 
of  them  is  not  certainly  known  :  some  place  it  in  the 
time  of  Shamgar,  or  of  Deborah.  As  to  the  writer  of 
this  book,  some  think  that  the  Books  of  Judges  and 
Ruth  were  both  composed  by  Samuel ;  others  attribute 
them  to  Hezekiah,  and  others  to  Ezra.  The  Jews 
place  the  Book  of  Ruth  among  the  five  books  which 
they  usually  read  on  all  the  festivals  in  the  year. 
These  five  books  are,  the  Song  of  Songs,  Ruth,  the 
Lamentations  of  Jeremiah,  Ecclesiastes,  and  the  Book 
of  Esther.  In  the  Hebrew  Bibles  they  are  printed  or 
written  apart  by  themselves,  and  are  bound  up  together. 
The  four  books  following  Ruth  are  called  by  the 
Greeks,  and  also  in  some  Latin  Bibles,  the  History  of 
the  Reigns.  Others  call  them  all  the  Books  of  Kings, 
because  they  give  an  account  of  the  establishment  of 
the  monarchy,  and  of  the  succession  of  the  kings,  who 
reigned  over  the  whole  kingdom  at  first,  and  over  the 
kingdoms  of  Judah  and  Israel  after  its  division.  At  the 
beginning  of  these  books  is  the  history  of  the  prophet 
Samuel,  which  throws  light  upon  that  of  the  kings. 
The  Jews  call  the  first  two  of  these  books  the  Books 
of  Samuel,  perhaps  because  they  contain  the  history 
of  the  two  kings  who  were  both  anointed  by  Samuel, 
and  because  what  is  said  of  Saul  in  the  first,  and  of 
David  in  the  second,  proves  the  truth  of  Samuel's 
prophecies.  They  give  the  name  of  the  Books  of 
Kings  only  to  the  other  two,  which  in  the  Latin  and 


THE    BIBLE.  39 

French  Bibles  are  called  the  Tliird  and  Fourth  Books 
of  Kings. 

The  name  of  Parol ipomena,  which,  in  Greek,  sig- 
nifies the  history  of  things  omitted,  is  given  to  the  two 
books  which  follow  those  of  the  Kings.  These  form, 
in  fact,  a  supplement,  containing  what  had  been  omitted 
in  the  Pentateuch,  and  the  Books  of  Joshua,  Judges, 
and  Kings ;  or  rather  they  contain  a  fuller  description 
of  some  things  which  had  been  therein  only  briefly 
related.  Some  give  them  the  name  of  Chronicles, 
because  they  arc  very  exact  in  mentioning  the  time 
when  every  transaction  happened. 

Rzra  wrote  the  history  of  the  return  of  the  Jews 
from  the  captivity  of  Babylon  into  Judea.  It  is  the 
history  of  about  eighty-two  years,  from  the  year  of  the 
world  3468,  when  Cyrus  became  master  of  the  eastern 
empire,  by  the  death  of  his  father  Cambyscs  in  Persia, 
and  his  father-in-law  Cyaxares  in  Media,  to  the  year 
3550,  which  was  the  twentieth  year  of  the  reign  of 
Artaxer.xcs,  surnamed  Longimanus.  This  book  bears 
the  name  of  Ezra,  who  was  the  writer  of  it. 

The  next  book  is  a  continuation  of  that  of  Ezra,  and, 
therefore,  it  is  by  some  called  the  Second  Book  of  Ezra. 
It  was  Nehemiah,  however,  whose  name  it  also  bears, 
who  wrote  it,  as  is  said,  by  the  advice  of  Ezra.  It 
contains  the  account  of  the  reestablishment  of  Je- 
rusalem, and  of  the  Temple,  and  the  worship  of  God. 
It  is  believed  by  some  writers  to  be  the  history  of 
about  thirty-one  years ;  but  its  chronology  is  exceed- 
ingly uncertain. 

After  this  general  history  of  the  Jews,  follow  two 
histories   of  particular   persons,  namely,   Esther  and 


W  LITERATURE. 

Job.  The  first  contains  the  account  of  a  miraculous 
deliverance  of  the  Jews,  which  was  accomphshcd  by 
means  of  the  heroine  named  Esther.  The  history  of 
Job  is  not  only  a  narration  of  his  actions,  but  contains 
also  the  entire  discourses  which  this  pious  man  had 
with  his  wife  and  his  friends,  and  is,  indeed,  one  of  the 
most  eloquent  and  poetic  books  in  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
It  is  uncertain  who  was  the  author. 

Next  to  the  historical  books  of  Scripture,  follow 
those  of  a  moral  nature.  The  first  of  these  is  the 
book  of  Psalms,  which  are  likewise  in  some  measure 
historical ;  for  they  recite  the  miracles  which  God 
had  wrought,  and  contain,  as  it  were,  an  abridgment 
of  all  that  had  been  done  for  the  Israelites,  and  that 
had  happened  to  them.  The  Hebrews  call  them  the 
Book  of  Praises,  by  which  they  mean,  the  praises 
of  God.  The  word  psalm  is  Greek,  and  properly 
signifies  the  sound  of  a  stringed  instrument  of  music. 
The  Hebrews  sang  the  psalms  with  different  instru- 
ments. We  make  but  one  book  of  them  all,  but  the 
Hebrews  divide  them  into  five  parts,  which  all  end 
with  the  words  Amen,  Amen.  Though  the  Psalms 
bear  the  name  of  David,  yet  they  were  not  all  com- 
posed by  him :  some  of  them  are  more  ancient,  and 
others  are  of  a  later  date  than  his  time  ;  some  of 
them    being  ascribed    to   Moses,  Samuel,   and    Ezra. 

After  the  Psalms  art)  the  Proverbs,  which  are  a 
collection  of  moral  sentences,  of  which  Solomon  was 
the  writer.  This  name  is  given  them  by  the  Greeks, 
but  the  Hebrews  call  them  Misle,  that  is,  Parablis  or 
Comparisons ;    and   the   woixl   may   also  signify   &n- 


THE    BIBLE.  41 

letices,  or  Maxims.  It  is  a  collection  of  divine  precepts, 
proper  for  every  age  and  every  condition  of  life. 

The  book  which  follows  is  also  a  moral  one,  and  "'»« 
likewise  composed  by  Solomon.  The  Greeks  call  it 
Ecclesiasles^  which  answers  to  the  name  of  Kohcleth, 
which  it  bears  in  the  Hebrew.  Both  these  words 
signify,  in  our  language,  a  preacher,  or  one  icho  speaks 
in  an  assetnhly.  In  this  book  is  given  an  admirable 
picture  of  the  vanity  of  worldly  expectations. 

Among  the  moral  books  is  also  reckoned  die  Song 
of  So7igs ;  that  is  to  say,  according  to  the  Hebrew 
manner  of  speaking,  a  most,  excellent,  song.  It  is  an 
inspired  production  of  Solomon,  in  the  allegorical  form 
of  an  epithalamium,  or  nuptial  song,  significant  of  the 
marriage  and  fellowship  between  Christ  and  his  people. 
"  Its  majestic  style  ;  its  power  on  men's  consciences  to 
promote  holiness  and  purity ;  the  harmony  of  its  lan- 

lage  with  that  of  Christ's  parables,  and  of  the  book 
-f  Revelation  ;  the  sincerity  of  the  bride  in  acknowl- 
edging her  faults;  and,  in  fine,  its  general  reception 
by  the  Jewish  and  Christian  church,  sufficiently  prove 
'ts  authenticity." 

In  regard  to  the  prophets,  it  may  be  observed,  that 
all  the  Old  Testament  is  considered  to  be  in  substance 
one  continued  prophecy  of  the  coming  of  a  Messiah  ; 
so  that  all  the  books  of  which  it  consists  are  understood 
to  be  in  some  sense  prophetical.  But  this  name  is 
more  especially  given  to  those  books  which  were 
written  by  pei-sons  who  had  a  clearer  knowledge  of 
futurity,  who  forewarned  both  kings  and  people  of  what 
/ould  happen  to  them,  and  who,  at  the  same  time, 
^inted  out  what  the  Messiah  was  to  accomplish,  whom 


«Z  LITERATUKE. 

they  who  are  acknowledged  to  have  been  prophets  had 
always  in  view  ;  and  this  is  what  ought  most  especially 
to  be  taken  notice  of  in  their  writings. 

The  works  of  the  prophets  are  divided  into  two 
parts,  the  first  of  wliicli  contains  the  Greater,  and  the 
second,  the  Lesser  Prophets.  This  distinction,  of 
course,  does  not  apply  at  all  to  the  persons  of  the 
prophets,  but  only  to  the  bulk  of  their  works.  The 
Greater  Prophets  are  Isaiah,  Ezekiel,  Daniel,  and 
Jeremiah.  The  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah  make  a 
separate  book  by  themselves,  containing  that  prophet's 
descriptions  of  the  destruction  of  the  city  of  Jerusalem, 
and  of  the  captivity  of  the  people.  The  Lesser  Proph- 
ets are  Hosea,  Joel,  Amos,  Obadiah,  Jonah,  Micah, 
Nahum,  Habakkuk,  Zephaniah,  Haggai,  Zechariah,  and 
Malachi.  They  were  formerly  contained  in  one  single 
volume,  which  the  Hebrews  call  Thereaser,  which 
means  Twelve,  or  the  Book  of  the  Twelve. 

The  dates  of  many  of  the  prophecies  are  uncertain, 
but  the  earliest  of  them  was  in  the  days  of  Uzziah ; 
king  of  Judah,  and  Jeroboam  the  Second,  his  con- 
temporary, King  of  Israel  —  about  two  hundred  years 
before  the  captivity,  and  not  long  after  Joash  had 
slain  Zechariah,  the  son  of  Jehoiada,  in  the  court  of  the 
Temple.  Hosea  was  the  first  of  the  writing  prophets; 
and  Joel,  Amos,  and  Obadiah,  published  their  proph- 
ecies about  the  same  time. 

Isaiah  began  his  remarkable  prophecies  a  short  time 
afterwards ;  but  his  book  is  placed  first,  because  it  is 
the  largest  of  them  all,  and  is  more  explicit  respecting 
the  advent  of  Christ  than  any  of  the  others.  The 
language  of  this  eminent  writer  is  exceedingly  sublime 


THE    BIBLE.  43 

and  affecting ;  so  much  so,  that  it  has  never  been 
equalled  by  any  profane  poet  either  in  ancient  Oi 
modern  times.  It  is  impossible  to  read  some  of  the 
chapters  without  being  struck  by  the  force  of  the 
prophetic  allusions  to  the  character  and  sufTe rings  of 
the  Messiah  ;  and,  in  consequence  of  these  prevailing 
characteristics,  the  author  is  ordinarily  styled  the 
Evangelical  Prophet,  and,  by  some  of  the  ancients,  a 
Fifth  Evangelist.  The  Jews  say  that  the  spirit  of 
prophecy  continued  forty  years  during  the  second 
Temple ;  and  Malachi  they  call  the  Seal  of  Prophecy, 
because  in  him  the  succession  or  series  of  prophets 
broke  off,  and  came  to  a  period.  The  book  of  Malachi, 
therefore,  appropriately  closes  the  sacred  record  of  the 
Old  Testament. 

The  New  Testament,  the  second  and  lesser  di- 
vision of  the  Bible,  relates  entirely  to  the  Christian  reli- 
gion, or  the  fulfilment  of  that  which  was  predicted  and 
prefigured  in  the  more  ancient  department  of  the  work. 
This  division  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures  is  generally 
styled  the  New  Testament,  or  that  which  has  been  a 
later  revelation  and  bequest.  That  portion  of  it  which 
relates  to  the  history  of  the  life  of  Christ  is  called  the 
Gospel,  and  by  some  the  Evangel,  both  these  words 
having  the  same  meaning,  and  implying  good  neios,  or 
glad  lidi?igs,  from  the  circumstance  that  the  narratives 
contain  an  account  of  things  which  are  to  benefit  man- 
kind. 

The  New  Testament,  like  the  Old,  is  a  compilation 
of  books  written  by  ilificrent  inspired  individuals,  and 
all  put  together  in  a  manner  so  as  to  exhibit  a  regular 
account  of  the   birth,  actions,  and  death,  of  ChrUt^ 


4i  LITERATURE. 

the  doctrine  he  promulgated  —  and  the  prophecies  re- 
garding the  future  state  of  the  church  which  he  founded. 
The  historical  books  are  the  four  Gospels  and  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles,  all  these  being  of  the  character  of 
narratives  of  events ;  the  doctrinal  are  the  Epistles  of 
Paul,  and  some  others ;  the  prophetic  book  is  the  last, 
and  is  called  the  Revelation,  or  Apocalypse  of  St.  John, 
having  been  written  by  that  apostle  while  he  was  in 
the  Island  of  Patmos. 

The  four  evangelists,  or  writers,  are  Matthew, 
Mark,  Luke,  and  John  ;  these  having,  as  is  generally 
believed,  been  companions  of  Christ  during  his  minis- 
trations, and  therefore  personally  acquainted  with  his 
life  and  character.  Each  of  the  four  books  is  princi- 
pally a  repetition  of  the  history  of  Christ;  yet  they  all 
possess  a  difference  of  style,  and  each  mentions  some 
circumstances  omitted  by  the  others,  so  that  the  whole 
IS  essential  in  making  up  a  complete  life  of  the  Mes- 
siah. These  distinctions  in  the  tone  of  the  narratives, 
and  other  peculiarities,  are  always  considered  as  strong 
circumstantial  evidence  in  proof  of  their  authenticity, 
and  of  there  having  been  no  collusion  on  the  part  of 
the  writers.  But,  indeed,  the  events  they  record  are 
detailed  in  so  exceedingly  simple  and  unaffected  a 
manner,  that  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  they  were 
written  with  a  view  to  impose  on  the  credulity  of  man- 
kind. The  veracity  and  actual  belief  of  the  evan- 
gelists themselves  are  placed  beyond  a  doubt. 

The  first  book  is  written  by  Matthew,  who  was  by 
birth  a  Jew,  and  exercised  the  profession  of  a  publican 
—  that  is,  a  collector  of  the  public  tax  or  assessmeni. 
imposed  upon  the  Jewish  people  by  their  conquerors, 


THE    BIBLE  46 

the  Romans.  Matthew,  who  was  also  called  by  the 
name  of  Levi,  was  one  of  tlie  twelve  apostles  of  Christ, 
and  he  is  said  to  have  written  his  narrative  from  thirty 
to  forty  years  after  the  departure  of  his  Master  from 
the  earth.  Many  of  the  ancients  say  that  he  wrote  it 
in  the  Hebrew  or  Syriuc  language  ;  but  it  is  more  prob- 
able that  there  were  two  originals  —  one  in  Hebrew 
and  the  other  in  Greek,  the  former  written  A.  D.  37  or 
38,  and  the  latter  A.  D.  61  ;  and  that  these  were  respec- 
tively designed  for  the  Hebrew  and  Gentile  nations. 

With  regard  to  Mark,  the  writer  of  the  second  Gos- 
pel, it  may  be  observed,  that  although  Mark  or  Marcus 
was  a  common  Roman  name,  there  is  reason  to  believe 
that  this  evangelist  was  a  Jew,  who  had  changed  his 
original  appellation  on  being  converted  to  the  faith  of 
Christ.  Jerome  says  that,  after  the  writing  of  this 
Gospel,  he  went  into  Egypt,  and  was  the  first  that 
preached  the  gospel  at  Alexandria,  where  he  founded 
a  church,  to  which  he  ofiered  an  example  of  holy 
living. 

Luke,  the  name  of  the  third  evangelist,  is  consid- 
ered by  some  to  be  a  contraction  of  Lucilius ;  and  he 
is  said  by  St.  Jerome  to  have  been  born  at  Antiocli. 
Some  think  that  he  was  the  only  one  of  all  the  penmen 
of  the  Scriptures  that  was  not  of  the  Israelites;  that  he 
was  a  Jewish  proselyte,  and  was  converted  to  Chris- 
tianity, by  the  ministry  of  St.  Paul,  at  Antioch ;  and 
that,  after  the  coming  of  Paul  into  Macedonia,  Luke 
was  his  constant  companion.  He  had  employed  him- 
self in  the  study  and  practice  of  physic  ;  and  hence 
Paul  calls  him  Luke  the  beloved  physician.  It  is 
deemed  probable  that  Luke  wrote  both  his  Gospel  and 


49  LITERATURE. 

his  narrative  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  at  Rome, 
when  he  was  there  a  prisoner  with  Paul,  preaching  in 
his  own  hired  house  —  circumstances  alluded  to  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  latter  work.  If  this  be  the  case, 
Luke's  Gospel  may  be  dated  about  thirty  years  after 
Christ's  departure,  or  A.  D.  63. 

The  fourth  evangelist,  John,  was  one  of  the  sons  of 
Zebedee,  a  fisherman  of  Galilee,  the  brother  of  James, 
one  of  the  twelve  apostles,  and  distinguished  by  the 
honorable  appellation  of  that  disciple  xohom  Jesus  loved. 
The  ancients  tell  us  that  John  lived  longest  of  all  the 
apostles,  and  was  the  only  one  of  them  that  died  a 
natural  death  —  all  the  rest  suffering  martyrdom.  It  is 
now  established  that  he  wrote  his  Gospel  about  the 
year  97  or  98,  when  he  was  of  an  extremely  old  age. 

After  the  gospel,  or  history  of  Jesus  Christ,  follows 
the  history  of  what  passed  after  his  ascension,  and  was 
transacted  by  the  apostles.  The  book,  therefore, 
which  contains  this  history,  is  called  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles.  It  is  a  history  of  the  rising  church  for  about 
the  space  of  thirty  years.  It  was  written,  as  has  been 
already  observed,  by  St.  Luke,  the  evangelist,  when  he 
was  with  St.  Paul  at  Rome,  during  his  imprisonment 
there.  In  the  end  of  the  book  he  mentions  particularly 
his  being  with  Paul  in  his  dangerous  voyage  to  Rome, 
when  he  was  carried  thither  a  prisoner ;  and  it  is 
evident  that  he  was  with  him  when,  from  his  prison 
there,  Paul  wrote  his  Epistles  to  the  CoJossians  and 
Philemon,  for  in  both  of  these  he  is  named  by  him. 

Next  to  this  con)c  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  which 
are  fourteen  in  number — one  to  the  Romans;  two  to 
the  Corinthians :    one  to   the  Galatians ;    one    to   the 


THE    BIBLE.  #F 

Epheslans ;  ono  to  the  Philippians  ;  one  to  the  Coles- 
sians  ;  two  to  the  Tliessalonians ;  two  to  Timothy ; 
one  to  Titus  ;  one  to  Philemon  ;  and  one  to  the  He- 
brews. They  contain  that  part  of  ecclesiastical  his- 
tory which  immediately  follows  after  what  is  related 
in  the  Acts.  The  principal  matter  contained  in  them 
is  the  establishment  or  confirmation  of  the  doctrine 
which  Jesus  Christ  taught  his  disciples. 

St.  Paul  wrote  to  the  churches  of  some  particular 
places,  or  to  some  particular  persons ;  but  the  other 
epistles  which  follow  his  are  called  catholic  (that  is, 
universal,)  because,  with  the  exception  of  the  second 
and  third  of  St.  John,  they  were  not  addressed  to  any 
particular  church  or  individual,  as  his  were,  but  to  the 
whole  church  in  general.  These  are — one  of  St. 
James ;  two  of  St.  Peter ;  three  of  St.  John  ;  and  one 
of  St.  Jude. 

The  date  of  most  of  these  epistles  is  extremely  un- 
certain, but  the  most  generally  received  chronology  of 
them  is  as  follows  :  that  of  St.  James,  A.  D.  61  ;  of 
St.  Peter,  A.  D.  66  and  67  ;  of  St.  John,  A.  D.  80  and 
90  ;  of  St.  Jude,  A.  D.  66. 

Modern  History  of  the  Bible.  —  It  will  have 
been  gathered  from  the  preceding  details,  that  the 
books  of  the  Old  Testament  were  originally  written  in 
the  Hebrew  language,  that  being  the  tongue  spoken  by 
the  ancient  Jewish  people  ;  and  that  the  books  were 
inscribed  on  rolls  or  sheets  of  carefully-prepared  parch- 
ment, and  deposited  only  in  the  Temple,  or  preserved 
in  the  hands  of  the  highest  officers  of  religion.  In 
this  condition,  and  either  in  the  Hebrew  or  Chaldaic 
tongue,  they  existed  till  translated  into  the  language 


49  LITERATURE. 

of  the  Greeks,  under  the  name  of  the  Septuagint. 
With  respect  to  the  exact  period  at  which  this  transla- 
tion was  efTecled,  history  presents  no  uniform  account. 
The  translation  is  ordinarily  assigned  to  seventy  Jewish 
elders  or  interpreters,  —  and  hence  the  term  Septuagint, 
which  signifies  seventy, —  who  were  employed  by  the 
Egyptian  ruler,  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  to  furnish  a 
copy  of  the  Scriptures  in  Greek,  a  language  with 
which  he  and  his  people  were  acquainted.  Whether 
the  narration  of  this  circumstance,  which  is  said  to 
have  occurred  277  years  before  the  Christian  era,  be 
conformable  with  credible  history,  it  is  at  least  certain 
that  the  translation  called  the  Septuagint  was  effected 
by  Jews  skilled  in  the  Greek  tongue,  at  about  the  time 
specified ;  and  it  was  afterwards  held  in  high  esteem 
by  the  Sanhedrim  at  Jerusalem.  It  may  further  be 
explained,  that  it  was  this  Greek  version  of  the  Scrip- 
tures which  was  always  quoted  by  our  Savior  and  his 
apostles,  whenever  they  made  an  appeal  to  the  sacred 
writings. 

With  the  earliest  organization  of  the  Christian  church 
may  be  said  to  have  commenced  a  new  era  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Bible.  The  Old  Testament  books,  whether 
in  the  form  of  Hebrew,  Chaldaic,  or  Greek  versions, 
were  still  cherished  by  the  Hebrew  priesthood,  as  they 
are  at  this  day  ;  but  copies  were  likewise  accessible  to 
the  early  Christians,  and  by  these  pious  apostles  and 
disciples  they  were  treasured  as  the  prophetic  testimony 
of  God's  design  for  the  salvation  of  mankind,  in  the 
grand  event  which  had  now  actually  occurred  —  the 
coming  of  Jesus  Christ. 

When  the  books  of  the  New  Testament  were  col- 


THE    BIBLE.  49 

lected  and  authenticated  by  the  early  fathers  and  other 
members  of  the  Christian  church,  tliey  were  held  in 
equal  esteem  with  those  of  the  Old,  and  carefully  pre- 
served along  with  them.  Though  still  in  detached 
manuscripts,  they  were  generally  in  the  Greek  tongue; 
but,  during  the  first  three  centuries  of  our  era,  Latin, 
or  the  language  of  the  Romans,  came  largely  into  use 
in  hterature,  a.id,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  modern 
L  w  ropean  languages,  in  later  times,  superseded  the 
Latin,  so  did  the  Latin  supersede  the  Greek.  In  the 
fifth  century,  the  Latin  version  of  the  Scriptures,  called 
the  Vulgate,  was  made  by  St.  Jerome. 

For  the  safe  custody  and  verification  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, from  the  period  at  which  the  New  Testament 
books  were  collected,  we  are  indebted  to  the  church, 
or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  that  series  of  ecclesiastical 
functionaries  whose  history  is  extended  from  the  apos- 
tolic times  till  the  present.  Until  the  Bible,  therefore, 
was  secured  to  the  people  by  the  greatest  of  all  me- 
chanical applications,  —  the  art  of  printing,  —  and  in 
that  respect  placed  beyond  the  reach  of  private  interpo- 
lation or  error,  its  safety,  as  a  record,  was  dependent  on 
the  care  and  affection  of  the  church.  From  the  era 
of  Augustine  and  Jerome,  when  copies  of  the  sacred 
books  came  into  considerably  greater  request  by  the 
scattered  branches  of  the  church,  transcripts  were 
effected  by  priests,  and  latterly  by  monks,  with  a  dili- 
gence and  accuracy  which  demand  our  utmost  esteem 
and  approbation.  In  the  cells  of  monasteries,  sur- 
rounded by  hordes  of  barbarous  nobles  and  their  serfs, 
learning  found  refuge  from  oppression  ;  and  there,  in 
the  darkest  ages  of  Eiiropoan  history,  were  ecclesias- 

D        XVII. — 5 


60  LITERATURE. 

tics  engaged  in  penning  copy  after  copy  of  the  Sacred 
Writings,  and  bequeathing  tliem  as  memorials  of  their 
industry  to  future  and  more  fortunate  generations. 

Both  before  and  after  the  appHcation  of  printing  to 
multiply  copies  of  the  Bible,  translations,  either  direct 
from  the  original  tongues  or  from  the  Greek  versions, 
were  effected  by  almost  every  people  to  whom  Chris- 
tianity was  inti'oduced.  Thus  copies  of  the  Scriptures 
in  Arabic,  Persian,  Sclavonic,  and  other  tongues,  were 
produced.  One  of  the  most  ancient  of  these  is  that 
translated  for  the  use  of  the  Armenian  Christians  in 
the  fifth  or  sixth  century.  Portions  of  the  Scriptures 
are  understood  to  have  been  translated  into  Anglo- 
Saxon,  for  use  in  the  first  British  churches,  as  early  as 
the  sixth  or  seventh  centuries  ;  and  the  whole  Bible 
was  translated  by  Bede,  an  eminent  Romish  ecclesias- 
tic, in  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  century.  The  first 
English  Bible  we  read  of  was  that  translated  by  Wick- 
liffe,  one  of  the  earliest  English  reformers,  about  the 
year  1360,  but  never  printed. 

The  Bible  now  in  use  among  Protestants  was  trans- 
lated by  order  of  James  T.,  of  England.  To  effect  this 
very  important  undertaking,  forty-seven  distinguished 
scholars  were  appointed,  and  divided  into  six  classes. 
Ten  at  Westminster  were  to  translate  to  the  end  of  II. 
Kings  ;  eight  at  Cambridge  were  to  finish  the  remain- 
ing historical  books  and  the  Ilagiographa ;  at  Oxford, 
seven  were  engaged  on  the  Prophets,  eight  upon  the 
four  Gospels,  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and  the  Apoca- 
lypse :  the  Apocryphal  books  were  to  be  translated  at 
Cambridge.  Each  individual  translated  all  the  books 
abetted  to  his  class  ;  the  whole  class  then  compared 


THE    BIBLE.  51 

all  the  translations,  and  adopted  the  readings  agreed 
on  by  the  majority.  The  book,  thus  finished,  was 
sent  to  each  of  the  other  classes.  Three  years  were 
consumed  in  this  arduous  duty  of  translating  and  exam- 
ining. Copies  were  then  sent  to  London,  one  from 
each  of  the  above-named  places.  Here  a  committee 
of  six,  one  from  each  class,  reviewed  the  whole,  which 
was  last  of  all  revised  by  Dr.  Smith,  and  Dr.  Bilson, 
bishop  of  Winchester.  Having  received  the  appro- 
bation of  the  king,  it  was  printed  in  1611.  We  are 
not  informed  by  any  writer  whether  the  translation 
was  effected  from  Hebrew  copies  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament or  the  Greek  Scptuagint,  or  whether  any  tran- 
scriptions of  the  original  manuscripts  were  consulted ; 
but  it  is  allowed  by  all  persons  competent  to  judge, 
that  the  version  possesses  extraordinary  merit,  and  ia 
the  most  perfect  ever  produced. 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 


As  the  Greeks,  more  than  any  other  people,  were 
the  originators  of  their  own  literature,  and  have  exerted 
a  controlling  influence  on  that  of  succeeding  ages,  it 
may  be  proper  to  preface  the  following  sketch  by  a 
few  remarks  on  the  general  nature  and  tendency  of 
this  potent  offspring  of  human  genius. 

Under  the  term  literature*  we  comprehend  all  those 
arts  and  sciences,  and  all  those  mental  exertions,  which 
have  human  life,  and  man  himself,  for  their  object ; 
but  which,  manifesting  themselves  in  no  external  effect, 
energize  only  in  thought  and  speech,  and,  without 
requiring  any  corporeal  matter  on  which  to  operate, 
display  intellect  as  imbodied  in  written  language. 
Under  this  are  included,  first,  the  art  of  poetry,  and 
the  kindred  art  of  narration,  or  history  ;  next,  all  those 
higher  exertions  of  pure  reason  and  intellect  which 
have  human  life,  and  man  himself,  for  their  object, 
and  which  have  influence  upon  both ;  and,  last  of  all, 
eloquence  and  wit,  whenever  these  do  not  escape  in 
the  fleeting  vehicle  of  oral  communication,  but  remain 
displayed  in  the  more  substantial  and  lasting  form  of 
written  productions. 

•  See  Schlegel's  History  of  Literature. 


LlTJiRATL'EE    OF    GREECE.  53 

The  greatest  and  most  important  discover^'  of  human 
ingenuity  is  writing  ;  there  is  no  impiety  in  saying, 
that  it  was  scarcely  in  the  power  of  the  Deity  to  confer 
on  man  a  more  glorious  present  than  Language,  by 
the  medium  of  which  lie  himself  has  been  revealed  to 
us,  and  which  affijrds  at  once  the  strongest  bond  of 
union,  and  the  best  instrument  of  communication.  So 
inseparable,  indeed,  arc  mind  and  language,  so  identi- 
cally one  are  thought  and  speech,  that  although  we 
must  always  hold  reason  to  be  the  great  characteristic 
and  peculiar  attribute  of  man,  yet  language  also,  when 
we  regard  its  original  object  and  intrinsic  dignity,  is 
well  entitled  to  be  considered  as  a  component  part  of 
the  intellectual  structure  of  our  being. 

However  greatly  both  of  these  high  gifts,  which  are 
so  essentially  the  same,  —  these,  the  proudest  distinc- 
tions of  human  nature,  which  have  made  man  what  he 
is,  —  may  be  in  many  instances  misdirected  and 
abused,  still  our  innate  and  indestructible  sense  of 
the  original  dignity  of  speech  and  language  is  suffi- 
ciently manifest,  from  the  importance  which  we  attach 
to  them  in  the  formation  of  all  our  particular  judg- 
ments and  opinions.  What  influence  the  art  of  speak- 
ing has  upon  our  judgment  in  the  affairs  of  active  life, 
and  in  all  the  relations  of  society,  —  what  power  the 
force  of  expression  every  where  exerts  over  our 
thoughts,  it  would  be  superfluous  to  detail.  The  same 
considerations  which  govern  us  in  our  judgment  of  in- 
dividuals determine  us  also  in  our  opinions  concerning 
nations ;  and  we  are  at  once  disposed  to  look  upon  that 
people  as  the  most  enlightened  and  the  most  polished 
which  makes  use  of  the  most  clear,  precise,  appro- 
5* 


54  LITERATUKE    OF    GREECE. 

priate,  and  agreeable  medium  of  expression ;  inso- 
much ihal  we  not  unfrcquciitly  allow  ourselves  to  be 
biased,  even  to  weakness,  by  the  external  advantage 
of  diction  and  utterance,  and  pay  more  attention  to  the 
vehicle  than  to  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  thoughts  them- 
selves, or  the  moral  character  of  those  from  whom 
they  proceed. 

The  true  excellence  and  importance  of  those  arts 
and  sciences,  which  exert  and  display  themselves  in 
writing,  may  be  seen  in  the  great  influence  which  they 
have  exerted  on  the  character  and  fate  of  nations, 
throughout  the  history  of  the  world.  Here  it  is  that 
literature  appears,  in  all  its  reach  and  comprehension, 
as  the  epitome  of  all  the  intellectual  capabilities  ana 
progressive  improvements  of  mankind.  If  we  look 
back  to  the  history  of  our  species,  and  observe  what 
circumstances  have  given  to  any  one  nation  the  great- 
est advantages  over  others,  we  shall  not  hesitate  to 
admit,  that  there  is  nothing  so  necessary  to  the  whole 
.mprovement,  or  rather  to  the  whole  intellectual  exist- 
ence, of  a  nation,  as  the  possession  of  a  plentiful  store 
of  those  national  recollections  and  associations,  which 
are  lost  in  a  great  measure  during  the  dark  ages  of 
infant  society,  but  which  it  forms  the  great  object  of 
the  poetical  art  to  perpetuate  and  adorn.  Such  national 
recollections — the  noblest  inheritance  which  a  people 
can  possess — bestow  an  advantage  which  no  other 
riches  can  supply  ;  for  when  a  people  are  exalted  in 
their  feelings,  and  ennobled  in  their  own  estimation,  by 
the  consciousness  that  they  have  been  illustrious  in 
ages  that  are  gone  by,  —  that  these  recollections  have 
come  down  to  them  from  a  remote  and  an  heroic  an- 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  55 

cestiy,  —  in  a  word,  that  they  have  a  national  poetry 
of  their  own,  we  are  willing  to  acknowledge  that  their 
pride  is  reasonable,  and  tlicy  are  raised  in  our  eyes  by 
the  same  circumstances  which  give  them  elevation  in 
their  own. 

It  is  not  from  the  extent  of  its  undertakings  alone,  or 
from  the  remarkable  nature  of  the  incidents  of  its  his- 
tory that  we  judge  of  the  character  and  importance  of 
a  nation.  Many  a  nation,  which  has  undergone,  in  its 
time,  all  the  varieties  of  human  fortune,  has  sunk  name- 
less into  oblivion,  and  left  behind  scarcely  a  trace  of 
its  existence.  Others,  more  fortunate,  have  transmitted 
to  posterity  the  memory  of  their  influence,  and  the 
fame  of  their  conquests ;  and  yet  we  scarcely  hold  the 
narrative  to  be  worthy  of  our  attention,  unless  the  spirit 
of  the  nation  has  been  such  as  to  communicate  its  in- 
terests to  those  undertakings  and  those  incidents  which 
at  best  occupy  but  too  great  a  space  in  the  history  of 
the  world.  Ilemarkablc  actions,  great  events,  and 
strange  catastrophes,  are  not,  of  themselves,  suflicient 
to  preserve  the  admiration  and  determine  the  judgment 
of  posterity.  These  arc  only  to  be  attained  by  a 
nation  who  have  given  clear  proofs  that  they  were  not 
insensible  instruments  in  the  hands  of  destiny,  but 
were  themselves  conscious  of  the  greatness  of  their 
deeds  and  the  singularity  of  their  fortunes. 

This  national  consciousness,  expressing  itself  in 
works  of  narrative  and  illustration,  is  History.  A 
people  whose  days  of  glory  and  victory  have  been  cel- 
ebrated by  the  pen  of  a  Livy,  whose  misfortunes  and 
decline  have  been  bequeathed  to  posterity  in  the  pages 
of  a  Tacitus,  acquires  a  strange  preeminence  by  the 


56  LITERATUHE    OF    GREECE. 

genius  of  her  historians,  and  is  no  longer  in  any  danger 
of  being  classed  with  the  vulgar  multitude  of  nations, 
which,  occupying  no  place  in  the  history  of  human  in- 
tellect, as  soon  as  they  have  performed  their  part  of 
conquest  or  defeat  on  the  stage  of  the  world,  pass 
away  from  our  view,  and  sink  forever  into  oblivion. 

The  poet,  the  painter,  or  the  sculptor,  though  endued 
with  all  the  power  and  all  the  magic  of  his  art, — 
though  capable  of  reaching  or  imbodying  the  boldest 
flights  of  imagination,  —  the  philosopher,  though  he 
may  be  able  to  scrutinize  the  most  hidden  depth  of 
human  thought,  —  can,  during  the  period  of  his  own  life, 
be  known  and  appreciated  only  by  a  few.  But  the 
sphere  of  his  influence  extends  with  the  progress  of 
ages,  and  his  name  shines  brighter  and  broader  as  it 
grows  old.  Compared  with  his,  the  fame  of  the  legis 
later,  among  distant  nations,  and  the  celebrity  of  new 
institutions,  appear  uncertain  and  obscure  ;  while  the 
glory  of  the  conqueror,  after  a  few  centuries  have  sunk 
into  the  all-whelming,  all-destroying  abyss  of  time,  is 
forever  fading  in  its  lustre,  until,  at  length,  it  perhaps 
affords  a  subject  of  exultation  to  some  plodding  anti- 
quarian, that  he  should  be  able  to  discover  some  glim- 
merings of  a  name  which  had  once  challenged  the 
reverence  of  the  world.  It  may  safely  be  affirmed, 
that  not  only  among  the  moderns,  but  even  in  the 
latter  ages  of  antiquity,  the  preservation  and  extension 
of  the  fame  of  Greece  were  at  least  as  much  the  work 
of  Homer  and  Plato,  as  of  Solon  and  Alexander.  The 
tribute  of  attention  which  all  the  European  nations  so 
wilUngly  pay  to  the  history  of  the  Greeks,  as  the 
authors  and  examples  of  European  refinement,  is  in 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  57 

truth  more  rightly  due  to  the  philosopher  and  the  poet 
than  to  the  conqueror  and  the  legislator.  The  influ- 
ence which  the  works  and  the  genius  of  Homer  have 
of  themselves  produced  on  after  ages,  or  rather,  indeed, 
on  the  general  character  and  improvement  of  the 
human  race,  has  alone  been  far  more  durable,  and  far 
more  extensive,  than  the  combined  effects  of  all  the 
institutions  of  the  Athenian,  and  all  the  heroic  deeds 
and  transcendent  victories  of  the  Macedonian. 

If  to  these  high  advantages  of  national  poetry  and 
national  traditions,  of  a  history  abounding  in  subjects 
of  meditation,  of  refined  art  and  profound  science,  we 
add  the  gifts  of  eloquence,  of  wit,  and  of  a  language 
of  society  adapted  to  all  the  ends  of  elegant  intercourse, 
but  not  abused  to  the  purposes  of  immorality,  —  we  have 
filled  up  the  picture  of  a  polished  and  intellectual 
people,  and  have  a  full  view  of  what  a  perfect  and 
comprehensive  literature  ought  to  be. 

As  in  most  other  countries,  poetry  flourished  in 
Greece  earlier  than  prose.  At  a  very  remote  period, 
Linus,  Orpheus,  and  Musajus,  are  said  to  have  com- 
posed poetry ;  but  although  some  verses,  attributed  to 
them,  are  still  extant,  it  is  now  generally  admitted  that 
these  must  have  been  the  production  of  more  modern 
times.  Homer,  the  most  ancient  of  the  Grecian  poets 
whose  works  have  been  preserved,  is  understood  to 
have  existed  in  the  tenth  century  before  Christ,  or 
about  three  centuries  previous  to  the  appearance  of 
any  known  prose  writers  in  the  land. 

The  biographers  of  Homer  represent  him  as  a  blind 
old  minstrel,  who  went  from  place  to  place,  reciting  or 
singing  his  verses  for  a  livelihood.     He  is  said  to  have 


68  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

lived  about  the  year  900  B.  C,  and  to  have  been  a 
native  of  the  Isle  of  Scio,  on  the  western  coast  of  Asia 
Minor,  which  seems  to  account  for  the  Ionic  dialect  in 
which  his  poems  were  written.  Many  years  after  he 
had  closed  a  life  of  penury  and  neglect,  no  fewer  than 
seven  considerable  Grecian  cities  contended  for  the 
honor  of  having  given  birth  to  this  inspired  mendicant 
—  a  circumstance  highly  characteristic  of  a  country  in 
which  the  desire  of  fame  was  the  ruling  appetite  of 
men,  both  as  individuals  and  as  communities.  The 
Island  of  Scio  is  nevertheless  regarded  as  most  likely 
to  have  been  his  birthplace. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer  are  long  narrative 
poems,  illustrative  of  events  connected  with  the  Trojan 
war.  At  the  time  when  the  Iliad  opens,  the  tenth  and 
last  year  of  the  siege  has  already  arrived,  and  the 
remaining  incidents  and  final  result  of  the  contest  are 
successively  described  with  great  poetical  power.  This 
is  the  whole  subject  of  the  twenty-four  books  or 
sections  of  the  Iliad  ;  yet  the  characters  and  scenes 
portrayed  in  the  poem  are  so  numerous  as  to  add  the 
strong  charm  of  variety  to  its  other  beauties.  The 
immortal  gods  are  represented  as  not  only  feeling  a 
deep  interest,  but  even  making  themselves  active 
parties,  in  the  war ;  which  intermixture  of  divine  and 
human  agency  in  the  poem,  has,  of  course,  the  effect 
of  taking  from  it  all  natural  probability  ;  yet,  leaving 
this  objection  aside,  there  is  much  in  the  Iliad  to 
engage  the  attention  of  an  inquirer  into  the  early 
history  of  mankind.  It  abounds  with  descriptions 
and  incidents  which  throw  a  light  upon  either  the 
time  of  action  in  the  poern,  or  the  time  of  its  com- 


LITERATUKE    OF    GREECE.  59 

position.  Fleroes  arc  represented  as,  in  those  days, 
yoking  their  own  cars ;  queens  and  princesses  arc 
busied  in  spinning ;  and  Achilles  kills  his  mutton  with 
his  own  hand,  and  dresses  his  own  dinner.  Yet  these 
operations,  tame  and  commonplace,  if  not  vulgar,  as 
they  are,  do  not,  in  the  hands  of  Homer,  detract  in 
the  slightest  degree  from  the  dignified  grandeur  of  the 
characters  who  perform  them. 

The  general  tone  of  the  poem  is  grave  and  lofty, 
and  it  occasionally  rises  into  sublimity.  In  the  lan- 
guage there  is  often  a  sur})rising  felicity  —  insomuch  that 
one  word  will  sometimes  fill  the  mind  of  the  reader 
with  a  perfect  and  delightful  picture.  But  the  great 
merit  of  the  work  lies  in  the  strength  of  thought,  and 
the  singular  ardor  of  imagination,  which  it  displays. 
"  No  poet  was  ever  more  happy,"  says  Dr.  Blair,  "  in 
the  choice  of  his  subject,  or  more  successful  in  painting 
his  historical  and  descriptive  pieces.  There  is  a  con- 
siderable resemblance  in  the  style  to  that  of  some  parts 
of  the  Bible,  —  for  instance,  Isaiah,  —  which  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  the  writings  of  the  Old 
Testament  are  productions  of  nearly  the  same  age,  and 
of  a  part  of  the  world  not  far  from  the  alleged  birth- 
place of  Homer." 

The  following  passage  from  the  Iliad,  which  de- 
scribes an  interview  between  Hector,  one  of  the  brave 
defenders  of  Troy,  and  his  wife,  Andromache,  is  full 
of  truth  and  beauty,  and  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of 
the  poem.     It  is  copied  from  Pope's  translation. 

"  'Too  daring  priiico  1   all,  wliither  dost  thou  run  ? 
Ah,  too  forgotful  of  thy  wife  and  son  ! 


^  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

And  think'st  thou  not  how  wretched  we  shall  be, 
A  widow  I,  and  helpless  orphan  he  ? 
For  sure  such  courage  length  of  life  denies, 
And  thou  must  fall  tiiy  virtue's  sacrifice. 
.Greece  in  her  single  heroes  strove  in  vain; 
Now  hosts  oppose  thee,  and  thou  must  be  slain  ! 
O  grant  me,  gods,  ere  Hector  meets  his  doom,  — 
All  I  can  ask  of  Heaven,  —  an  early  tomb  ! 
So  shall  my  days  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 
And  end  with  sorrows  as  they  first  begun. 
No  parent  now  remains,  my  griefs  to  share, 
No  father's  aid,  no  mother's  tender  care; 
The  fierce  Achilles  wrapped  our  walls  in  fire. 
Laid  Thebe  waste,  and  slew  my  warlike  sire  ! 
His  fate  compassion  in  the  victor  bred ; 
Stern  as  he  was,  he  yet  revered  the  dead  ; 
His  radiant  arms  preserved  from  hostile  spoil 
And  laid  him  decent  on  the  funeral  pile ; 
Then  raised  a  mountain  where  his  bones  were  burned ; 
The  mountain  nymphs  the  rural  tomb  adorned. 
Jove's  sylvan  daughters  bade  their  elms  bestow 
A  barren  shade,  and  in  his  honor  grow. 

By  the  same  arm  my  seven  brave  brothers  fell  — 
In  one  sad  day  beheld  the  gates  of  hell ; 
While  the  fat  herds  and  snowy  flocks  they  fed, 
Amid  their  fields  the  hapless  heroes  bled  ! 
My  mother  lived  to  bear  the  victor's  bands, 
The  queen  of  Hyppoplacia's  sylvan  lands: 
Redeemed  too  late,  she  scarce  beheld  again 
Her  pleasing  empire,  and  her  native  plain, 
When,  ah  !   oppressed  by  life-consuming  woe, 
She  fell  a  victim  to  Diana's  bow. 

Yet,  while  my  Hector  still  survives,  I  see 
My  father,  mother,  brethren,  all,  in  thee  : 
Alas  !  my  parents,  brothcis,  kindred,  all 
Once  more  will  perish,  if  my  Hector  fall. 
Thy  wife,  thy  infant,  in  thy  danger  share ; 
O,  prove  a  husband's  and  a  father's  care  • 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  61 

That  quarter,  most,  the  skilful  Greeks  annoy, 

Where  yon  wild  fig-trees  join  the  walls  of  Troy. 

Thou  from  tiiis  tower  defend  the  important  post; 

There  Agamemnon  points  his  dreadful  host ; 

That  pass  Tydides,  Ajax,  strive  to  gain, 

And  there  the  vengeful  Spartan  fires  iiis  train  : 

Thrice  our  bold  foes  the  fierce  attack  have  given, 

Or  led  by  hopes,  or  dictated  from  Heaven  :  — 

Let  others  in  the  field  their  arms  employ, 

But  stay  my  Hector  here,  and  guard  his  Troy.' 

The  chief  replied,  '  Tliat  post  shall  be  my  care, 
Nor  that  alone,  but  all  the  works  of  war.  — 
How  would  the  sons  of  Troy,  in  arms  renowned, 
And  Troy's  proud  dames, whose  garments  sweep  the  ground. 
Attaint  the  lustre  of  my  former  name. 
Should  Hector  basely  quit  the  field  of  fame  ! 
My  early  youth  was  bred  to  martial  pains. 
My  soul  impels  me  to  the  embattled  ])lains ; 
Let  me  be  foremost  to  defend  the  throne. 
And  guard  my  father's  gloric^s  and  my  own. 

For  come  it  will,  the  day  decreed  by  fates  — 
How  my  heart  trembles  while  my  tongue  relates  — 
The  day  when  thou,  imperial  Troy  !   must  bend. 
And  see  thy  warriors  fall,  thy  glories  end. 
And  yet  no  dire  presage  so  wounds  my  mind,^ 
My  mother's  death,  the  ruin  of  my  kind. 
Not  Priam's  hoary  hairs  defiled  with  gore, 
Not  all  my  brothers  gasping  on  the  shore,  — 
As  thine,  Andromache  !     Thy  griefs  I  dread  ; 
I  see  thee  trembling,  weeping,  captive  led. 
In  Argijfe  looms  our  battles  to  design, 
And  woes  of  which  so  large  a  part  was  thine  ! 
To  bear  the  victor's  hard  commands,  or  bring 
The  weight  of  waters  from  Hyperia's  spring. 

Then,  while  you  groan  beneath  the  load  of  life. 
They  cry,  "  Behold  the  miglity  Hector's  wife  !  " 
Some  haughty  Greek,  who  lives  thy  tears  to  sec, 
Imbittcrs  all  thy  woes  by  naming  me. 
XVII. — 6 


62  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

The  thoughts  of  glory  past,  and  present  shame, 
A  thousand  griefs,  shall  waken  at  the  name  ! 
May  I  lie  cold  before  that  dreadful  day. 
Pressed  with  a  load  of  monumental  clay  ! 
Thy  Hector,  wrapped  in  everlasting  sleep. 
Shall  neither  hear  thee  sigh  nor  see  thee  weep.' 

Thus  having  spoke,  the  illustrious  chief  of  Troy 
Stretched  his  fond  arms,  to  clasp  the  lovely  boy. 
The  babe  clung,  crying,  to  his  nurse's  breast, 
Scared  at  the  dazzling  helm,  the  nodding  crest. 
With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  parent  smiled. 
And  Hector  hastened  to  relieve  his  child ; 
The  glittering  terrors  from  his  brows  unbound. 
And  placed  the  beaming  helmet  on  the  grovmd  ; 
Then  kisstd  the  child,  and  lifting  high  in  air. 
Thus  to  the  gods  preferred  a  father's  prayer  :  — 
'  O  thou  !  whose  glory  fills  the  ethereal  throne, 
And  all  ye  deathless  powers,  protect  my  son  ! 
Grant  him,  like  me,  to  purchase  just  renown, 
To  guard  the  Trojans,  to  defend  the  crown, 
Against  his  country's  foes  the  war  to  wage, 
And  rise  the  Hector  of  the  future  age ! 
So,  when,  triumphant  from  successful  toils, 
Of  heroes  slain  he  bears  the  recking  spoils. 
Whole  hosts  may  hail  him  with  deserved  acclaim. 
And  saj',  "  This  chief  transcends  his  father's  fame  ; 
While,  pleased  amid  the  general  shouts  of  Troy, 
His  mother's  conscious  heart  o'erflows  with  joy.' 

He  spoke  ;  and,  fondly  gazing  on  her  charms, 
Restored  the  pleasing  burden  to  her  arms  ; 
Soft  on  her  fragrant  breast  the  babe  she  laid, 
Hushed  to  repose,  and  with  a  smile  surveyed  : 
The  troubled  pleasure  soon  chastised  by  fear, 
She  mingled  with  a  smile  a  tender  tear. 
The  softened  chief  with  kind  compassion  viewed, 
And  dried  the  falling  drops,  and  thus  pursued  :  — 

'Andromache  !   my  soul's  far  bettor  part ! 
Why  with  untimely  sorrows  heaves  thy  heart ' 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  63 

No  hostile  hand  can  antedate  my  doom, 
Till  Fate  compels  me  to  the  silent  tonil). 
Fixed  is  the  term  to  all  the  race  of  earth  ; 
And  such  the  hard  condition  of  our  birth, 
No  force  can  then  resist,  no  flight  can  save  , 
All  sink  alike,  the  fearful  and  tiie  brave. 
No  more  —  but  hasten  to  tliy  tasks  at  home ; 
There  guide  the  si)indle,  and  direct  the  loom. 
Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene  ; 
The  field  of  combat  is  the  sphere  for  men. 
Where  heroes  war,  tlic  foremost  place  I  claim, 
The  first  in  danger,  as  the  first  in  fame  I  ' 

The  Odyssey  has  been  said  to  resemble  a  work 
called  forth  by  the  success  of  a  previous  one,  and 
ranks,  as  a  whole,  below  the  Iliad.  It  relates  to  the 
adventures  which  befell  Ulysses,  king  of  the  Island  of 
Ithaca,  on  his  way  home  from  the  Tiojan  war.  Both 
this  poem  and  the  Iliad  have  continued  for  more  than 
two  thousand  years  to  enjoy  the  admiration  of  mankind  ; 
and  it  is  certainly  a  proof  of  surpassing  merit,  that  no 
effort  in  the  same  style  of  poetry,  though  made  under 
circumstances  much  more  advantageous  than  those  of 
the  blind  old  minstrel,  has  ever  been  in  nearly  the 
same  degree  successful. 

Hesiod,  a  poet  much  inferior  in  powers  to  Homer, 
whose  contemporary  he  is  generally  supposed  to  have 
been,  was  the  author  of  several  poems  of  considerable 
merit,  two  of  which,  entitled  the  Thcogony,  or  the 
Generation  of  the  Gods,  and  the  Works  and  Days, 
have  come  down  to  modern  times.  The  former  of 
these  compositions  is  a  poetical  account  of  the  origin, 
relationship,  rank,  and  peculiar  characteristics  and 
functions  of  the  divinities  worshipped  by  the  Greeks 


64  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

and  ihe  other  piece  is  a  sort  of  rustic  calendar  in  verse, 
with  directions  for  the  proper  performance  of  agri- 
cultural labors.  The  Roman  poet  Virgil  acknowl- 
edged  that  he  had  taken  this  poem  as  liis  model  when 
composing  his  Georgics,  although  it  must  be  allowed 
that,  in  this  instance,  the  imitation  far  surpassed  the 
original. 

Few  of  the  events  of  Hesiod's  life  have  been  re- 
corded ;  and  of  the  scanty  notices  which  we  possess 
respecting  him,  some  appear  to  be  entitled  to  little 
credit.  He  was  a  native  of  Ascra,  a  town  of  Boeotia, 
and  spent  his  youthful  years  in  tending  his  father's 
sheep  on  the  sides  of  Mount  Helicon.  He  had  a 
brother,  named  Perses,  who  contrived  to  swindle  Hesiod 
out  of  his  share  of  an  estate  which  their  father,  at  his 
death,  had  left  to  be  divided  between  them.  Hesiod, 
fortunately,  was  so  circumstanced  otherwise,  that  he 
could  procure,  in  moderation,  the  comforts  of  life  ;  and 
he  was  so  little  ambitious,  that,  instead  of  giving  way 
to  unavailing  regret  at  the  disappointment  of  his  just 
expectations,  he  contented  himself  with  recording  in 
verse  his  pity  for  those  who  place  their  happiness  in 
wealth,  and  who  endeavor  to  obtain  it  even  at  the 
expense  of  honesty.  And  so  forgiving  was  his  dis- 
position, that,  notwithstanding  the  cruel  and  unjust 
manner  in  which  his  brother  had  used  him,  he  subse- 
quently assisted  him  more  than  once  in  distresses 
which  overtook  him. 

Hesiod  gained  a  public  prize  in  a  poetical  contest 
which  took  place  at  the  celebration  of  funeral  games  in 
honor  of  a  king  of  EubcEa.  The  poet  lived  to  a  great 
nge,  and  is  stated  to  have  spent  tlie  latter  part  of  his 


LITERATUEE    OF    GREECE.  65 

life  in  Locris,  in  the  vicinity  of  Mount  Parnassus, 
Quiet  and  inoffensive  as  his  disposition  was,  it  was 
his  fate  to  meet  with  a  violent  death.  A  Milesian  who 
resided  in  the  same  house  with  him  had  committed  a 
gross  outrage  upon  a  young  woman,  whose  brothers, 
erroneously  supposing  that  Ilosiod  had  connived  at  the 
crime,  included  him  in  its  punishment.  They  mur- 
dered both  the  innocent  poet  and  the  guilty  Milesian, 
and  cast  their  bodies  into  the  sea. 

The  eighth  centui-y  before  Christ,  or  that  immedi- 
ately following  the  era  of  Ilomor  and  Ilesiod,  forms  a 
perfect  blank  in  the  literary  history  of  Greece  ;  not 
one  of  its  poets,  if  indeed  any  then  flourished,  having 
possessed  sufficient  merit  to  insure  the  preservation  of 
his  works,  or  even  of  his  name,  from  oblivion.  The 
seventh  century,  by  producing  Archilochus,  Tyrtaius, 
and  Alcman,  gave  indication  of  the  approach  of  a 
brighter  period  ;  and  the  sixth  more  than  fulfilled  the 
promises  of  its  predecessor,  by  giving  birth  to  Sappho, 
Anacreon,  and  Simonides,  besides  several  other  poets 
of  inferior,  yet  still  of  distinguished  ability. 

Sappho  was  a  lyrical  poetess,  whose  genius  was  so 
much  admired  by  the  Greeks,  that  they  honored  her 
with  the  title  of  "  the  Tenth  Muse."  She  was  born  at 
Mitylenc,  in  the  Isle  of  Lesbos,  about  the  year  610  B.  C. 
She  became  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  inhabitant  of  the 
Island  of  Andros,  to  whom  she  bore  a  daughter,  named 
Cleis.  Sappho  was  short  in  stature,  swarthy  in  com- 
plexion, and  by  no  means  beautiful.  Endowed  with  a 
warm  and  passionate  temperament,  she  chiefly  wrote 
poetry  descriptive  of  the  hopes  and  fears  inspired  by 
love.  Only  two  of  her  lyrics  have  been  preserved 
E  6* 


TO  LITERATUKE    OF    GREECE. 

entire,  —  namely,  a  Hymn  to  Vfenus,  and  an  Ode  to  a 
Young  Lady, —  both  of  which  arc  characterized  by  so 
much  beauty,  feeling,  and  fire,  as  to  justify  the  ad- 
miration with  which  her  poetical  powers  were  regarded 
by  the  ancients.  Her  vehement  affections  finally 
impelled  her  to  her  own  destruction.  After  the  death 
of  her  husband,  she  became  desperately  enamored 
of  a  young  man,  named  Phaon,  and,  finding  herself 
unable  to  excite  a  reciprocal  passion,  notwithstanding 
the  most  earnest  and  persevering  efforts,  she  threw 
herself  headlong  into  the  sea,  from  a  high  rock  at 
the  promontory  of  Leucate.  The  place  where  she 
was  drowned  was  afterwards  known  by  the  name  of 
the  "  Lover's  Leap."  The  following  fragment  will 
serve  to  show  the  poetic  feeling  and  fancy  which 
characterize  the  productions  of  this  celebrated  woman. 

The  Rose. 

"  Would  Jove  appoint  some  flower  to  reign 
In  matchless  beauty  on  the  plain, 
The  rose  —  mankind  will  all  agree  — 
The  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers  should  be  : 
The  pride  of  plants,  the  grace  of  bowers, 
The  blush  of  meads,  the  eye  of  flowers, 
Its  beauties  charm  tiie  gods  above  ; 
Its  fragrance  is  the  breath  of  love  ; 
Its  foliage  wantons  in  the  air. 
Luxuriant,  like  the  flowing  hair ; 
It  shines  in  blooming  splendor  gay, 
While  zephyrs  on  its  bosom  play.'* 

Passing  over  inferior  names,  we  come  to  Anacreon, 
a  poet  of  great  celebrity,  who  was  born  at  Teos,  a  city 
of  Ionia,  in  Asia,  about  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  67 

before  the  Christian  era.  It  is  supposed  that  he  would 
be  about  eighteen  or  twenty  years  of  age  when  Cyrus, 
the  king  of  Persia,  sent  a  general  named  Ilarpagus, 
with  a  large  army,  to  punish  the  Greek  cities  of  Asia 
Minor  for  refusing  to  assist  him  in  his  war  with  Croesus, 
king  of  Lydia.  On  the  approach  of  Ilarpagus,  the 
Teians  resolved  to  abandon  their  country  rather  than 
submit  to  the  Persians  ;  and,  accordingly,  they  crossed 
the  Archipelago  or  iEgcan  Sea,  and  settled  at  Abdera, 
on  the  coast  of  Thrace.  Anacreon,  who  had  accom- 
panied his  fellow-citizens  into  voluntary  exile,  subse- 
quently visited  Samos,  where  he  obtained  the  friendship 
of  Polycrates,  the  king  of  that  island.  He  is  said  to 
have  resided,  during  a  long  period,  at  the  court  of 
Polycrates,  dividing  his  hours  between  the  composition 
of  amatory  and  bacchanalian  verses,  and  indulgence  in 
pleasures  of  a  congenial  kind. 

His  reputation  as  a  poet  having  become  very  great, 
Hipparchus,  who,  together  with  his  brother  Hippias, 
then  ruled  in  Athens,  invited  him  to  visit  that  city 
and,  according  to  Plato,  sent  a  fifty-oared  vessel  for 
the  express  purpose  of  conveying  him  to  Attica.  After 
the  Eissassination  of  Hipparchus,  Anacreon  recrossed 
the  i^gean  to  his  native  town  of  Teos ;  but  was  a 
second  time  obliged  to  quit  it,  on  account  of  the 
advance  of  the  Persian  army,  when  the  Greek  states  of 
Asia  Minor  endeavored  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  Darius, 
in  the  year  500  B.  C.  He  then  returned  to  the  Teian 
settlement  at  Abdera,  where  he  died  in  the  eighty-fifth 
year  of  his  age,  (about  470  B.  C.)  He  is  said  to  liave 
been  choked  by  a  grape-stone  while  quafling  a  cup  of 
wine  —  a  death  not  inappropriate   to  the   manner  in 


68  LITERATUUK    OF    GREECE. 

which  he  spent  his  life.  Tlie  extant  works  of  Anac- 
reon  consist  of  odes  and  sonnets,  chiefly  referring  to 
ihe  subjects  of  love  and  wine.  His  style  is  graceful, 
sprightly,  and  mellifluous ;  but  he  can  only  be  con- 
sidered as  an  inspired  voluptuary.  The  Athenians,  in 
his  own  spirit,  reared  a  monument  to  him  in  the  shape 
of  a  drunkard  singing  —  an  expressive  proof  of  the 
blindness  of  the  ancients  to  the  vicious  and  degrading 
nature  of  intemperance. 

The  following  pieces  exhibit  fair  specimens  of  the 
poetry  of  Anacreon  ;  — 

On  his  lyre. 

" «  Wake,  O  lyre,  thy  silent  str'ings : 
Celebrate  the  brotlier  kings, — 
Sons  of  Athens,  famed  afar,  — 
Cadmus,  and  the  Theban  war  !  ' 
Rapt  1  strike  the  vocal  shell  — 
Hark  !  —  the  trembling  chords  rebel ; 
All  averse  to  arms  tlicy  prove, 
Warbling  only  strains  of  love. 

Late  I  strung  anew  my  l3're  — 
'  Heavenly  muse,  my  breast  inspire, 
While  the  swelling  notes  resound 
Hercules,  for  toils  renowned  ! ' 
Still  the  chords  rebellious  prove, 
Answering  only  strains  of  love. 

Farewell,  heroes,  farewell,  kings  ! 

Love  alone  shall  tune  my  strings." 

The  Grasshopper. 

"  Thee,  sweet  grasshopper,  we  call 
Happiest  of  insects  all, 
Who  from  spray  to  spray  canst  skip, 
And  the  dew  of  morning  sip  : 


LITERATURE    OK    GREECE.  69 

Little  sips  inspire  to  sing ; 
Then  thou'rt  happy  as  a  king. 
All  —  whatever  thou  canst  see, 
Herbs  and  flowers  —  belong  to  thee  j 
All  the  various  seasons  yield, 
All  the  produce  of  the  field. 
Thou,  quite  Innocent  of  harm, 
Lov'st  the  fanner  and  the  farm  ; 
Singing  sweet  when  summer's  near, 
Thou  to  all  laaiikiud  art  dear  ; 
Dear  to  all  the  tuneful  Nine, 
Seated  round  the  throne  divine  ; 
Dear  to  I'hccbus,  god  of  day  ; 
He  inspired  thy  sprightly  lay, 
And  with  voice  melodious  blessed. 
And  with  vivid  colors  dressed. 
Thou  from  spoil  of  time  art  free  ; 
Age  can  never  injure  thee. 
Wisest  daughter  of  the  earth  ! 
Fond  of  song,  and  full  of  mirth  ; 
Free  from  flesh,  exempt  from  pains, 
No  blood  riots  in  thy  veins. 
To  be  blessed,  1  equal  thee  ; 
Thou'rt  a  demi-deity  I  " 


Cupid   Woundt'il 

"  Once  as  Cupid,  tired  with  play, 
On  a  bed  of  roses  lay, 
A  rude  bee,  that  slipped,  unseen, 
The  sweet-breathing  buds  between, 
Stung  his  finger  —  cruel  chance  !  — 
With  its  little  pointed  lance  : 
Straight  he  fills  the  air  with  cries, 
Weeps  and  sobs,  and  runs  and  flics, 
Till  the  god  to  Venus  came, 
Lovely,  laughter-loving  dame  ; 


PjO  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

Then  he  thus  began  to  plain  : 

»  O  undone  !     1  die  with  pain  ! 

Dear  mamma,  a  serpent  small, 

Which  a  bee  the  ploughmen  call, 

Imped  with  wings,  and  armed  with  dart, 

O  !  has  stung  me  to  the  heart.' 

Venus  thus  replied,  and  smiled  : 

'  Dry  those  tears  —  for  shame,  my  child  ; 

If  a  bee  can  wound  so  deep, 

Causing  Cupid  thus  to  weep, 

Think,  O  think,  what  cruel  pains 

He  that's  stung  by  thee,  sustains.'  " 

Passing  over  other  philosophers  who  shed  a  blaze  of 
light  upon  Greece  at  this  period,  we  must  briefly  notice 
Pythagoras,  who  was  a  native  of  Samos,  and  born  about 
the  middle  of  the  si.xth  century  B.  C.  Having  re- 
ceived a  finished  education,  and  enriched  his  mind  by 
travel  and  study  in  Egypt,  he  established  a  school  of 
philosophy  at  Crotona,  where  several  hundred  pupils 
soon  were  enrolled.  They  lived  together,  as  in  one 
family,  with  their  wives  and  children,  in  a  public 
building  called  the  common  auditory.  The  whole 
business  of  the  society  was  conducted  with  the  most 
perfect  regularity.  Every  day  was  begun  with  a 
distinct  deliberation  upon  the  manner  in  which  it  should 
be  spent,  and  concluded  with  a  careful  retrospect  of 
the  events  which  had  occurred  and  the  business  which 
had  been  transacted.  They  rose  before  the  sun,  that 
they  might  pay  him  homage,  after  which  they  repeated 
select  verses  from  Homer  and  other  poets,  and  made 
use  of  music,  both  vocal  and  instrumental,  to  enliven 
their  spirits  and  fit  them  for  the  duties  of  the  day. 
They  then  employed  several  hours  in   the  study  of 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  71 

science.  These  were  succeeded  by  an  interval  of 
leisure,  which  was  commonly  spent  in  a  solitary  walk 
for  the  purpose  of  contemplation.  The  next  portion 
of  the  day  was  allotted  to  conversation.  The  hour 
immediately  before  dinner  was  filled  up  with  various 
kinds  of  athletic  exercises.  Their  dinner  consisted 
chiefly  of  bread,  honey,  and  water;  for,  after  they 
were  perfectly  initiated,  they  wholly  denied  themselves 
the  use  of  wine.  The  remainder  of  the  day  was 
devoted  to  civil  and  domestic  afiairs,  conversation, 
bathing,  and  religious  ceremonies. 

While  teaching,  whether  in  public  or  in  private, 
Pythagoras  wore  a  long  white  robe,  a  flowing  beard, 
and,  as  some  assert,  a  crown  upon  his  head  —  always 
preserving  a  commanding  gravity  and  dignity  of  man- 
ner. Being  desirous  of  having  it  supposed  that  he  was 
of  a  superior  nature  to  ordinary  men,  and  not  liable  to 
be  aflected  by  their  passions  and  feelings,  he  was  care- 
ful never  to  exhibit  any  tokens  of  joy,  sorrow,  or  anger, 
and  to  appear  perfectly  tranquil  in  all  circumstances. 
To  promote  this  composure,  he  was  accustomed  to 
soothe  his  mind  with  music,  and  took  especial  delight 
in  sing'uig  the  hymns  of  Hesiod  and  Homer. 

Concerning  the  Supreme  Being,  Pythagoras  is  un- 
derstood to  have  taught  that  lie  is  the  soul  of  the 
universe,  and  the  first  principle  of  all  things  ;  that  in 
substance  he  resembles  Ughf,  and  in  nature,  is  like  to 
truth ;  that  he  is  invisible,  incorruptible,  and  incapable 
of  pain.  He  held  that  from  the  One  divine  mind 
proceeded  four  ordere  of  intelligences  —  namely,  gods, 
demons,  heroes,  and  the  souls  of  men.  Of  these,  the 
gods  were    the  first    in  place  ;    the  demons,  second  ; 


^ 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 


the  heroes,  who  were  described  as  a  class  of  beings 
with  bodies  composed  of  a  subtile,  luminous  substance, 
occupied  the  third  rank  ;  and  the  human  mind  con- 
stituted the  fourth.  The  gods,  demons,  and  heroes, 
dwelt  in  the  upper  air,  and  exercised  a  beneficent  or 
malignant  influence  on  men,  dispensing,  at  their  pleas- 
ure, sickness,  prosperity,  and  adversity. 

Pythagoras  taught  the  doctrine  of  transmigration  of 
souls,  —  in  consequence  of  which  his  followers  rigidly 
abstained  from  the  use  of  animal  food,  and  were  un- 
willing to  take  away  the  life  of  any  living  creature  ;  it 
being  impossible  to  prove  that,  in  felling  an  ox,  or 
shooting  a  pigeon,  they  were  not  dislodging  the  soul 
of  some  celebrated  warrior  or  sage  of  former  times,  or 
perhaps  even  lifting  their  hands  against  the  lives  of 
some  of  their  own  deceased  relatives  or  friends. 

According  to  this  philosopher,  the  sun  is  a  globe  of 
fire,  placed  in  the  centi-e  of  the  universe,  and  round  it 
revolve  the  planets,  of  which  the  earth  is  one.  Mer- 
cury and  Venus  complete  their  revolution  in  one  year, 
Mars  in  two,  Jupiter  in  twenty,  and  Saturn  in  thirty. 
The  earth  is  of  a  globular  form,  as  are  likewise  the 
moon  and  the  other  planets.  Immediately  surrounding 
the  earth  is  the  gross  atmosphere  of  common  air;  but 
beyond  this  is  a  region  of  pure  ether,  the  abode  of 
divine  intelligences.  The  sun,  moon,  and  stars  are 
inliabited  by  gods  and  demons. 

Pythagoras  attached  a  mysterious  importance  to 
numbers,  both  arithmetical  and  musical.  He  is  re- 
ported to  have  taught,  that  one,  or  unity,  denotes  God, 
or  the  animating  principle  of  the  universe  ;  that  two  is 
en»blematic  of  matter,  or  the  passive  principle  ;  that 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  73 

three  signifies  the  world,  formed  by  the  union  of  the 
two  former ;  and  that  four  denote  the  perfection  of 
nature.  The  decade,  which  is  the  sum  of  the  whole 
of  these  numbers,  comprehends  all  arithmetical  and 
musical  qualities  and  proportions.  Pythagoras  was 
himself,  as  has  been  already  intimated,  fond  of  music, 
in  the  science  of  which  he  was  deeply  versed.  He  is 
believed  to  have  been  the  discoverer  of  musical  ratios, 
and  to  have  invented  the  monochord,  a  single-stringed 
mstrumcnt,  with  movable  bridges  for  measuring  and 
adjusting  the  ratios  of  musical  intervals.  He  was  also 
profound  in  geometry,  to  wliich  he  made  several  im- 
portant additions.  The  celebrated  demonstration  in 
Euclid,  ranking  forty-seventh  in  the  first  book,  is  a 
noble  and  enduring  monument  of  his  skill  in  this 
department  of  science.  As  a  moral  teacher,  he  pro- 
mulgated many  sound  and  excellent  precepts,  of  which 
the  following  may  serve  as  specimens :  "  It  is  in- 
consistent with  fortitude  to  abandon  the  post  appointed 
by  the  stiprcme  Lord  before  we  obtain  his  permission. 
No  man  ought  to  be  esteemed  free  who  has  not  the 
perfect  command  of  himself.  That  which  is  good  and 
becoming  is  rather  to  be  pursued  than  that  which  is 
pleasant.  Sobriety  is  the  strength  of  the  soul,  for  it 
preserves  the  reason  unclouded  by  passion.  The  gods 
are  to  be  worshipped  not  under  such  images  as  rep- 
resent the  forms  of  men,  but  by  simple  illustrations  and 
offerings,  and  with  purity  of  heart." 

At  the  time  of  his  death,  Pythagoras  was  upwards  of 

eighty  years  of  age.     He  left  two  sons  and  a  daughter, 

all  of  whom  attained  considerable  celebrity  for  their 

intellectual  acquirements.     The  sons  succeeded  theii 

XVII. — 7 


74  LITERATURE    OF   GREECE. 

father  in  the  direction  of  his  philosophical  school,  and 
the  daughter  was  distinguished  for  her  learning,  and 
wrote  an  able  commentary  on  the  poems  of  Homer. 
It  has  been  disputed  whether  Pythagoras  ever  committed 
any  of  his  doctrines  to  writing.  Several  compositions 
have  been  attributed  to  him,  but  their  authenticity  is 
regarded  as  extremely  questionable. 

The  origin  of  tlieatrical  representations  has  been 
traced  to  the  Grecian  custom  of  celebrating,  in  the 
grape  season,  the  praises  of  Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine, 
by  joyous  dances  and  the  chanting  of  hymns — a 
species  of  festivity  perhaps  akin  to  some  of  the  cer- 
emonies which  attend  the  "  haiTest  home  "  in  many 
modern  countries.  By  way  of  varying  the  hymns,  or 
dithyr amines,  as  they  were  called,  an  ingenious  man, 
named  Thespis,  originated  a  custom  of  introducing  a 
single  speaker,  whose  duty  it  was  to  amuse  the  com- 
pany with  recitations.  Thespis  was  a  native  of  Icaria, 
in  Attica,  and  lived  in  the  early  part  of  the  sixth 
century  before  the  Christian  era.  He  also  contrived  a 
rude  movable  car,  on  which  his  performers  went 
through  their  exhibitions  in  various  places.  The  car 
was  the  first  form  of  the  stage  ;  the  single  reciter  was 
the  first  kind  of  actor ;  the  persons  who  sang  the  hymns 
or  choruses,  although  unknown  to  the  modern  theatre, 
continued  ever  afterwards  to  be  an  essential  part  of 
that  of  Greece,  under  the  appellation  of  the  chorus ; 
their  duty  being  to  stand  by  during  the  performance, 
and  make  explanatory  comments  on  what  was  passing. 

The  car  of  Thespis  was  soon  exchanged  for  a  fixed 
stage  in  the  temple  of  Bacchus.  A  second  reciter  was 
introduced ;  masks,  dresses,  and  scenery  were  used ; 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE,  75 

and  in  a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time  from  the  rise 
of  Thespis,  entertainments  of  this  nature  had  assumed 
something  like  a  dramatic  form.  Originally,  the  in- 
cidents represented  were  chiefly  selected  from  the 
fabulous  and  poetical  history  of  early  Greece.  The 
ancient  theatres  were  constructed  on  a  very  extensive 
scale,  and  differed  in  many  respects  from  the  places 
on  which  the  same  appellation  is  bestowed  in  modern 
times.  Instead  of  consisting  of  a  covered  edifice,  in 
which  a  limited  audience  assemble  for  a  few  hours  in 
the  evening,  the  Grecian  theatre  was  a  large  area, 
enclosed  with  a  wall,  but  open  above,  in  which  almost 
the  entire  population  passed  the  whole  day,  during  the 
celebration  of  the  festivals  of  Bacchus,  in  witnessing 
the  representation  of  a  scries  of  dramatic  pieces. 

The  site  chosen  for  the  theatre  was  generally  the 
slope  of  a  hill,  that  the  natural  inclination  of  the  ground 
might  enable  the  occupants  of  the  successive  tiers  of 
seats  to  see  the  performers  on  the  stage  without  ob- 
struction. The  enclosure  sometimes  comprehended  so 
large  a  space,  that  it  could  accommodate  from  twenty 
to  thirty  thousand  persons.  Behind  the  scenes  there 
was  a  double  portico,  to  which  the  audience  were  at 
liberty  to  resort  for  shelter  when  it  rained.  The 
theatre  was  opened  in  the  morning,  and  the  people 
brought  with  them  cushions  to  sit  on,  and  a  supply  of 
provisions,  that  they  might  not  need  to  quit  their  places, 
for  the  purpose  of  procuring  refreshments,  during 
the  performance.  The  daily  entertainments  consisted 
of  a  succession  of  four  plays  —  three  tragedies  and  a 
comedy ;  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  representation, 
certain  judges  decided  on  the  relative  merits  of  the 


■^  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

pieces  brought  forward,  and  awarded  the  dramatic 
prize  to  tho  favorite  of  the  day.  The  emulation  ex- 
cited by  these  public  awards  of  honor  led  to  the 
production  of  dramatic  compositions  in  great  numbers 
throughout  Greece,  and  particularly  at  Athens.  The 
theatre  of  that  city,  we  are  told,  at  one  period  possessed 
no  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  tragedies  of  the 
first  class,  and  five  hundred  of  the  second,  together 
with  an  equally  numerous  collection  of  comedies  and 
satirical  farces. 

Very  little  is  known  respecting  the  personal  history 
of  the  first  Greek  dramatists.  Phrynicus,  to  whom  is 
attributed  the  invention  of  the  theatric  mask,  was  a 
pupil  of  Thespis.  iEschylus,  who  was  the  first  to 
attain  great  fame  in  this  profession,  was  a  native  of 
Eleusis,  and  born  525  B.  C.  The  numerous  and 
important  improvements  which  he  effected  on  the 
Athenian  theatre,  and  the  force  and  dignity  of  his  tragic 
compositions,  elevated  and  refined  the  infant  drama, 
and  justly  entitled  him  to  the  designation  of  "  the 
father  of  tragedy." 

iEschylus  was  a  brave  soldier  as  well  as  a  true  and 
highly-gifted  poet,  and  distinguished  himself  by  his 
valor  at  the  battles  of  Marathon,  Salamis,  and  Plataea. 
He  gave  great  ofience  to  his  countrymen,  by  making 
some  allusions,  in  one  of  his  dramas,  to  the  Eleusinian 
mysteries  ;  and  would  have  been  condemned  for  im- 
piety, had  not  his  brother  pleaded  his  cause  before  the 
assembly  of  the  people,  and,  by  recounting  his  patriotic 
deeds,  induced  the  Athenians  to  pardon  the  indiscreet 
poet. 

After  enjoying  undisturbed   possession  of  the   dra 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  77 

matic  throne  till  his  fifty-sixth  year,  ^Eschylus  was 
defeated  in  a  theatrical  contest  by  Sophocles,  a  young 
competitor  of  great  merit  and  genius.  Unable  to 
endure  the  mortification  of  seeing  the  works  of  his 
rival  preferred  to  his  own,  the  elder  bard  withdrew 
from  Athens,  and  passed  into  Sicily,  where  he  was 
received  with  welcome  by  Hiero,  king  of  Syracuse,  at 
whose  court  the  lyrical  poets  Simonides  and  Pindar, 
and  the  comic  writer  Epicharmus,  were  then  residing. 
jEschylus  died  at  Gela,  in  Sicily,  in  the  sixty-ninth 
year  of  his  age,  456  B.  C. 

A  singular  account  is  given  of  the  manner  of  his 
death.  It  is  said  that,  while  he  was  one  day  walking, 
bareheaded,  in  the  fields,  an  eagle,  mistaking  his  bald 
head  for  a  stone,  let  fall  a  tortoise  upon  it,  by  which 
he  was  killed  on  the  spot. 

Sophocles,  the  successful  rival  of  ^schylus,  was 
born  at  Colonos,  in  the  vicinity  of  Athens,  about  the 
year  497  B.  C.  Ilis  father,  Sophilus,  although  a 
blacksmith  by  trade,  appears  to  have  been  a  person  of 
some  consequence,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  easy 
circumstances.  Sophocles  received  from  him  a  good 
education,  and  was  early  distinguished  for  the  rapidity 
of  his  progress  in. his  studies.  He  had  attained  his 
sixteenth  year  at  the  time  of  the  memorable  sea-fight 
near  Salamis,  and  was  selected,  on  account  of  his 
personal  beauty  and  skill  in  music,  to  lead  a  chorus  of 
noble  youths,  who  sang  and  danced  round  the  trophy 
erected  by  the  Greeks  in  commemoration  of  that 
victory.  The  dramatic  achievements  of  ^schylus  had 
early  excited  the  admiration  and  awakened  the  am- 
bition of  Sophocles  ;  and,  on  his  arrival  at  manhood, 
7* 


-!J8  UTEEATURE    OF    GREECE. 

he  bent  all  the  energies  of  his  mind  to  the  composition 
of  tragic  poetry.  After  spending  a  considerable  period 
in  preparation,  he  at  length,  in  his  twenty-eighth  year, 
ventured  to  compete  with  iEschylus  for  the  dramatic 
prize.  Encouraged  by  the  decision  of  the  judges  in 
his  favor,  Sophocles  continued  to  write  for  the  stage, 
and  is  said  to  have  produced  no  less  than  one  hundred 
and  twenty  tragedies,  only  seven  of  which  have  come 
down  to  modern  times.  He  also  composed  a  number 
of  elegiac  and  lyrical  poems,  and  a  prose  work  on 
dramatic  poetry. 

Although  Sophocles  received  many  invitations  to 
visit  foreign  countries,  his  attachment  to  his  native  land 
W£is  so  strong,  that  he  never  could  make  up  his  mind 
to  quit  it,  even  for  a  time.  He  died  at  Athens  in  his 
ninetieth  year,  407  B.  C.  According  to  the  common 
account,  his  death  was  occasioned  by  the  excess  of  his 
joy  at  obtaining  the  prize  for  a  play  which  he  had 
brought  forward  even  at  that  very  advanced  age. 

Euripides,  another  celebrated  tragic  poet,  was  born 
at  Salamis,  on  the  very  day  of  the  great  naval  conflict 
between  the  Greeks  and  Pereians  near  that  island. 
When  he  had  reached  an  age  at  which  he  became  his 
own  master,  he  abandoned  the  exercises  of  the  gym- 
nasium, for  which  he  appears  never  to  have  had  much 
relish,  and  applied  himself  with  more  ardor  than  ever 
to  his  favorite  philosophical  and  literary  studies. 
Warned,  however,  by  the  fate  of  his  teacher  Anaxag- 
oras,  who  was  banished  from  Athens  for  promulgating 
opinions  subversive  of  the  established  religion,  he  pru- 
dently resolved  to  adopt  a  profession  less  dangerous 
than  that  of  correcting  popular  errors,  and  accordingly 


LITERATUEE    OF    GUEECE.  79 

began,  in  his  eighteenth  year,  to  write  for  tlie  stage 
From  this  period  until  he  quitted  Athens  for  Mace- 
donia, in  his  seventy-second  year,  he  continued  his 
dramatic  labors,  and  wrote  seventy-five,  or,  as  some 
affirm,  ninety-two  plays.  He  composed  many  of  his 
tragedies  in  a  gloomy  cave  in  his  native  island  of 
Salamis,  to  which  he,  from  time  to  time,  retired  for 
that  purpose  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  Athens.  lie 
wrote  slowly,  on  account  of  the  infinite  pains  he  took 
to  polish  his  works  ;  and  it  is  related,  that,  having  once 
mentioned  his  having  taken  three  days  to  compose 
three  verses,  a  brother  poet  boasted  of  having  written  a 
hundred  in  as  brief  a  space.  "  That  may  be,"  replied 
Euripides  ;  "  but  you  ought  to  remember  that  your 
verses  arc  destined  to  perish  as  quickly  as  they  are 
composed,  while  mine  arc  intended  to  last  forever." 

As  tragedy  took  its  rise  from  the  dithyrambic  verses 
sung  at  the  feast  of  Bacchus,  so  comedy  sprang  from 
the  phallic  hymn  which  was  chanted  by  the  processions 
of  worshippers  during  the  same  festivals.  The  earliest 
comic  performances  were  little  else  than  mere  mounte- 
bank exhibitions. 

Aristophanes,  the  most  celebrated  of  the  comic  poets 
of  Greece,  was  a  native  of  Atltens.  The  date  of  his 
birth  is  uncertain,  but  it  is  known  that  he  brought  for- 
ward his  first  comedy  in  the  fourth  year  of  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war,  (427  B.  C.)  lie  enjoyed  a  very  large 
share  of  popularity,  and  continued  for  many  years  to 
write  successfully  for  the  stage.  His  plays,  like  those 
of  the  other  early  comic  poets,  consist  of  caricatured  and 
ludicrous  representations  of  living  men  and  manners. 
He  did    not  hesitate    to   introduce    the    most   enunent 


80  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

statesmen,  warriors,  and  philosophers  of  his  time,  into 
his  satirical  pieces,  even  under  their  real  names,  and  to 
expose  and  ridicule  their  faults  and  foibles,  real  or 
imaginary.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  he  frequently 
abused  the  privileges  of  his  profession,  by  directing  his 
sneers  and  ribald  abuse  against  such  excellent  men  as 
Socrates  and  Euripides,  both  of  whom  he  attacked  in 
his  comedies  in  the  most  unjustifiable  manner.  He 
composed  fifty-four  plays,  seventeen  of  which  are  still 
extant.  It  is  believed  that  he  lived  to  a  very  advanced 
age  ;  but  no  authentic  information  has  been  handed  down 
to  us  respecting  the  time  or  manner  of  his  death. 

Our  space  will  not  allow  us  to  notice  in  detail  the 
galaxy  of  poets,  historians,  and  philosophers,  who  now 
succeed  each  other  in  rapid  succession,  and  w'ho  have 
left  either  their  works  or  their  fame,  to  testify  to  their 
genius.  We  must  not  omit,  however,  to  mention 
Pindar,  who  was  born  520  B.  C,  and  whose  sublime 
odes  have  come  down  to  our  time ;  Herodotus,  the 
father  of  history,  who  was  born  484  B.  C.  ;  Thucydi- 
des,  another  historian  of  great  fame,  who  was  born 
470  B.  C.  ;  Socrates,*  the  greatest  and  best  of  the 
ancient  philosophers,  who  was  also  born  470  B.  C. ; 
Plato,  who  still  continues  to  exert  an  influence  on  the 
philosophy  of  mankind  ;  and  Aristotle,  whose  works 
also  yet  live  among  the  productions  of  the  master 
spirits  of  mankind. 

Theocritus,  a  pastoral  poet,  was  a  native  of  Syra- 
cuse, and  was  born  270  B.  C.      He  was  a  pupil    of 

"  For  the  lives  of  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  «S:c.,  see  Lives 
of  Famous  Men  of  Ancient  Times. 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  81 

Philetas,  a  poet  of  Ck)s.  Those  of  his  works  which 
have  been  transmitted  to  posterity  arc  thirty  Idylliums ; 
a  diminutive  name,  which  corresponds  to  what  we 
should  call  "short  occasional  poems."  Of  these,  ten 
are  strictly  bucolic,  or  pastoral ;  the  rest  arc  of  a 
mi.xed  nature,  some  being  upon  familiar  and  humorous 
subjects,  connected  either  with  a  city  or  a  country  life, 
and  others  having  all  the  majesty  of  epic  composition. 
He  also  wrote  a  considerable  number  of  epigrams  on 
various  mythological,  personal,  and  historical  themes. 
Many  poems  of  this  author  are  not  now  extant. 

As  a  pastoral  pout,  he  stands  at  the  head  of  his  class. 
The  Roman  poet  Virgil  was  content  to  call  the  Sicilian 
"  master,"  and  invokes,  in  his  pastorals,  the  muse  of 
Theocritus,  under  the  name  of  the  Sicilian  or  Syra- 
cusan  muse.  In  general,  Virgil  imitates,  and  in  many 
cases  adopts  and  refines,  the  ideas  of  his  predecessor. 
In  some  instances,  according  to  a  custom  of  ancient 
writers  which  would  now  be  held  to  be  literary  piracy, 
he  translates  the  very  words  of  Theocritus. 

The  following  is  one  of  the  admired  odes  of  this 
favorite  writer :  — 

The  Fishermen. 

"  Need,  Diopliantes,  ready  wit  imparts, 
Is  labor's  mistress,  and  the  nurse  of  arts  : 
Corroding  cares  tlie  toiling  wretch  infest, 
And  spoil  the  peaceful  tenor  of  his  breast ; 
And  if  soft  slumbers  on  his  eyelids  creep, 
Some  cursed  care  steals  in,  and  murders  sleep. 

Two  ancient  fishers  in  a  straw-tliatched  shed, — 
Leaves  were  their  walls,  and  sea- weed  was  their  bed, — 
F 


5  LITERATURE    OF    GREECE. 

Reclined  their  weary  limbs  :  hard  by  were  laid 

Baskets,  and  all  their  implements  of  trade, 

Rod,  hooks,  and  lines  composed  of  stout  horsehairs, 

And  nets  of  various  sorts,  cand  various  snares, 

The  seine,  the  cast-net,  and  the  wicker  maze, — 

To  waste  the  watery  tribes  a  thousand  ways ; 

A  crazy  boat  was  drawn  up  on  a  plank ; 

Mats  were  their  pillow,  wove  of  osiers  dank ; 

Skins,  caps,  and  rugged  coats,  a  covering  made  ; 

This  was  their  wealth,  their  labor,  and  their  trade. 

No  pot  to  boil,  no  watch-dog  to  defend ; 

Yet  blest  they  lived,  with  Penury  their  friend. 

None  visited  their  shed  —  save,  every  tide, 

The  wanton  waves,  that  washed  its  tottering  side. 

When  half  her  course  the  moon's  bright  car  had  sped, 

Joint  labor  roused  the  tenants  of  the  shed. 

The  dews  of  slumber  from  their  eyes  they  cleared, 

And  thus  their  mind  with  pleasing  parley  cheered :  - 

ASPHALION. 

I  hold,  my  friend,  that  trite  opinion  wrong. 
That  summer  nights  are  short,  when  days  are  long ; 
Yes — I  have  seen  a  thousand  dreams  to-night, 
And  yet  no  morn  appears,  nor  morning  light ; 
Sure,  on  my  mind  some  strange  illusions  play, 
And  make  short  nights  wear  heavily  away. 


Fair  summer  seasons  you  unjustly  blame  ; 
Their  bounds  are  equal,  and  their  pace  the  same; 
But  cares,  Asphalion,  in  a  busy  throng. 
Break  on  your  rest,  and  make  the  night  seem  long. 

ASPHALION. 

Say,  hast  thou  genius  to  interpret  right 
My  dream  .''     I've  had  a  jolly  one  to-night. 
Thou  shalt  go  halves,  and  more  thou  canst  not  wish : 
We'll  share  the  vision,  as  we  share  our  fish. 


LITEEATURE    OF    GREECE. 

I  know  thee  shrewd,  expert  of  dreams  to  spell; 
He's  the  best  judge  who  can  conjecture  well. 
We've  leisure  time,  which  can't  be  better  spent, 
By  wretched  carles  in  wave-washed  cabin  pent, 
And  lodged  on  leaves  ;  yet  why  should  we  repine. 
While  living  lights  in  Prytaneum  shine  ? 


To  thy  fast  friend  each  circumstance  recite, 
And  let  me  hear  this  vision  of  the  night. 

ASPHALIO.V. 

Last  evening,  weary  with  the  toils  of  day. 
Lulled  in  the  lap  of  rest,  secure  1  lay  ; 
Full  late  we  supped  ;  and  sparingly  we  eat ; 
No  danger  of  a  surfeit  from  our  meat. 
Methought  1  sat  upon  a  shelfy  steep. 
And  watched  the  fish  that  gambolled  in  the  deep. 
Suspended  by  my  rod,  I  gently  shook 
The  bait  fallacious,  which  a  huge  one  took  j 
(Sleeping  we  image  what  awake  we  wish  ; 
Dogs  dream  of  bones,  and  fishermen  of  fish  ;) 
Bent  was  my  rod,  and  from  his  gills  the  blood, 
With  crimson  stream,  distained  the  silver  flood. 
1  stretched  my  arm  out,  lest  the  line  should  break 
The  fish  so  vigorous,  and  the  rod  so  weak  ! 
Anxious  I  gazed  ;  he  struggled  to  be  gone ; 
'  You're  wounded ;  I'll  be  with  you,  friend,  anon  ; 
Still  do  you  tease  me  .'  '  for  he  plagued  me  sore  : 
At  last,  quite  spent,  I  drew  him  safe  on  shore, 
Then  grasped  him  by  my  hand  for  surer  hold, 
A  noble  prize,  a  fish  of  solid  gold  ! 
But  fears  suspicious  in  my  bosom  thronged. 
Lest  to  the  god  of  ocean  he  belonged  ; 
Or  haply,  wandering  in  the  azure  main. 
Some  favorite  fish  of  Amphitrite's  train. 
My  prize  I  loosed,  and  strictest  caution  took. 
For  fear  some  gold  might  stick  about  the  hook ; 


LITERATURE   OF    GREECE. 

Then  safe  secured  him,  and  devoutly  swore 

Never  to  venture  on  the  ocean  more, 

But  live  on  land,  as  happy  as  a  king ! 

At  this  1  waked.     What  think  you  of  the  thing  ? 

Speak  free,  for  know,  I  am  extremely  loath, 

And  partly  fear,  to  violate  my  oath. 


Fear  not,  old  friend  :  — you  took  no  oath ;  for  why  ? 
You  took  no  fish  —  your  vision  's  all  a  lie. 
Go  search  the  shoals,  not  sleeping,  but  awake  ; 
Hunger  will  soon  discover  your  mistake. 
Catch  real  fish  ;  you  need  not,  sure,  be  told, 
Those  fools  must  starve  who  only  dream  of  gold." 

Bion  was  born  at  Smyrna,  and  spent  the  greater  part 
of  his  time  in  Sicily.  Moschus  acknowledges  him  as  his 
friend,  and  his  preceptor  in  pastoral  poetry.  His  existing 
works  are  a  few  elegant  and  simple  pastorals,  and  some 
fragments.  He  was  a  rich  man,  and  we  learn  from 
one  of  the  Idyls  of  Moschus  that  he  died  by  poison, 
administered  by  a  powerful  enemy.  The  following  is 
one  of  the  lesser  productions  of  Bion  :  — 

The  Teacher  Tanght. 

"  As  late  I  slumbering  lay,  before  my  sight 
Bright  Venus  rose  in  visions  of  the  night : 
She  led  young  Cupid  ;  as  in  thought  profound, 
His  modest  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ground  ; 
And  thus  she  spoke  :  '  To  thee,  dear  swain,  I  bring 
My  little  son  ;  instruct  the  boy  to  sing.' 

No  more  she  said  ;  but  vanished  into  air, 
And  left  the  wily  pupil  to  my  care  : 
I  (sure  I  was  an  idiot  for  my  pains) 
Began  to  teach  him  old  bucolic  strains , 


LITERATURE    OF    GREECE.  85 

How  Pan  the  pipe,  how  Pallas  formed  the  flute, 
Phoebus  the  lyre,  and  Mercury  the  lute  : 
Love,  to  my  lessons  quite  regardless  grown, 
Sang  lighter  lays  and  sonnets  of  his  own  ; 
The  amours  of  men  below  and  gods  above, 
And  all  the  triumphs  of  the  Queen  of  Love. 
I  —  sure  the  simplest  of  all  shepherd  swains  — 
Full  soon  forgot  my  old  bucolic  strains  ; 
The  lighter  lays  of  love  my  fancy  caught. 
And  I  remembered  all  that  Cupid  taught." 

Wc  must  pass  over  the  fabulist  JEsop ;  the  orator 
Demosthenes  ;  the  historians  Poiybius,  Diodorus  Siculus, 
and  Xenophon  ;  the  stoic  Zcno ;  the  materialist  Epicurus, 
and  the  biographer  Plutarch.  These,  and  other  brilliant 
names,  appear  successively  in  the  pages  of  Grecian  his- 
tory, and  shed  their  light  and  lustre  along  the  dazzling 
path  of  that  wondrous  people.  Even  after  their  lib- 
erties had  fled,  and  the  land  of  Lconidas  and  Lycur- 
gus  had  become  reduced  to  the  condition  of  a  Roman 
province,  the  Greek  poets,  philosophers,  and  rhetori- 
cians, continued  to  excite  the  admiration  of  mankind; 
and,  while  they  bowed  to  Roman  arms,  by  their  arts 
and  their  literature  they  achieved  a  conquest  over  the 
Roman  mind. 


mi. — y 


ROMAN    LITERATURE. 


Rome  is  said  to  have  been  founded,  by  Romulus, 
about  the  year  753  B.  C.  The  people  consisted  of  a 
Latin  colony,  who,  at  that  time,  were  just  emerging 
from  a  state  of  barbarism.  The  city  of  Rome  in- 
creased, and  soon  became  the  leading  power  in  Italy. 
While  the  inhabitants  flourished,  however,  in  arts  and 
arms,  for  a  space  of  five  hundred  years  they  had  nothing 
which  deserved  the  name  of  literature.  Ennius,  who 
was  born  239  B.  C,  though  a  Greek  by  birth,  was  the 
first  who  taught  the  Romans  to  write  their  own  lan- 
guage with  ease  and  elegance.  He  lived  on  intimate 
terms  with  some  of  the  most  eminent  members  of  the 
Roman  aristocracy,  and  gradually  introduced  a  taste 
for  Greek  literature. 

In  the  year  155  B.  C,  the  study  of  the  Greek  phi- 
losophy was  introduced  among  the  Romans,  by  the 
embassy  which  the  Athenians  sent  to  Rome,  consisting 
of  three  of  the  most  eminent  philosophers  of  the  age  — 
namely,  Carneades  of  the  Academy,  Diogenes  the  Stoic, 
and  Critolaus  the  Peripatetic.  Though  the  study  was 
condemned  by  Cato  and  others,  and  Avas  forbidden  by 
severe  statutes,  it  soon  made  progress  among  the 
Roman  nobles.  The  study  of  the  Greek  language  and 
literature  was  still  further  promoted  by  the  conquest  of 


ROMAIC    LITERATUUE,  87 

Achaia,  and  by  the  influence  of  the  distinguished 
Achaian  pinsoners  who  were  distributed  among  the 
towns  of  Italy.  Among  these  was  tiic  historian  Po- 
lybius,  who  attracted  the  attention  of  Paulus  iEmilius, 
and  was  appointed  by  him  instructor  of  his  two  sons, 
Fabius  and  Scipio.  Though  Polybius  did  not  write  in 
Latin,  he  exerted  a  great  influence  upon  Roman  Hter- 
ature.  He  sliowed  the  Romans  how  the  history  of 
their  own  state  ought  to  be  treated,  and,  by  his  inti- 
macy with  Scijjio  and  tlie  most  distinguished  Romans 
of  the  time,  produced  a  great  impression  upon  the 
literary  character  of  the  age.  From  this  time,  it 
became  the  fashion  for  all  well-educated  Romans  to 
read,  speak,  and  even  write,  the  Greek  language ;  and 
Greek  rhetoricians  and  philosophers  found  abundant 
employment  in  Rome.  Literature,  however,  was  chiefly 
prosecuted  by  the  great  and  noble,  while  the  body  of 
the  people  remained  uneducated. 

From  the  preceding  account,  it  will  be  scon  that 
Roman  literature  only  rose  and  spread  in  connection 
with  the  study  of  the  Greek  literature  ;  and  the  con- 
sequence was,  not  only  that  the  Roman  writers  made 
the  Greeks  their  models,  but  that  they  rarely  attempted 
any  original  work.  One  exception,  however,  must  be 
made  in  favor  of  the  Roman  satire,  which  was  essen- 
tially home-born,  and  had  nothing  similar  to  it  in  the 
Greek* language.  This  species  of  composition  appears 
to  have  arisen  from  a  practice  which  has  prevailed 
in  Italy  from  the  earliest  times  to  the  present  day  — 
that  of  making  rude  extempore  verses  in  ridicule  of 
one  another,  which  pertains  to  the  country  people. 
Lucilius,  who   was  the  contemporary  of  Scipio  Afri- 


88  ROMAN    LITKKATURE. 

canus  and  of  Laclius,  with  whom  he  lived  on  the  most 
intimate  terms  of  friendshij),  was  tlie  first  writer  who 
constructed  Roman  satires  on  those  principles  of  art 
which  were  considered,  in  the  time  of  Horace,  as  es- 
sential requisites  in  a  satiric  poem. 

The  first  century  before  the  Christian  era  was  the 
most  brilliant  epoch  of  Roman  literature.  The  various 
writings  of  Cicero  had  brought  the  Roman  language  to 
perfection ;  and  almost  every  species  of  composition  was 
now  cultivated  with  success.  The  Augustine  age  is, 
proverbially,  that  in  which  the  light  of  learning  blazed 
forth  with  peculiar  brilliancy,  and  the  glory  of  which, 
time  and  change  have  been  unable  to  obscure.  It 
was  during  this  period  that  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid,  and 
Tibullus,  —  the  greatest  names  associated  with  Roman 
poetry, — appeared;  and  as  their  works  have  come 
down  to  us  nearly  entire,  we  are  able  to  share  in  the 
fruition  of  that  era  of  genius. 

Passing  over  Julius  Caesar  and  Cicero,  —  the  first 
the  most  correct,  and  the  last  the  most  eloquent,  of  the 
Roman  writers  of  prose,  —  we  come  to  Virgilius  Pub- 
lius  Maro,  who  was  born  in  the  year  70  B.  C,  five 
years  before  the  poet  Horace,  and  seven  before  the 
emperor  Augustus.  His  native  place  was  Andes,  a 
small  village  near  Mantua.  His  father  appears  to 
have  been  a  proprietor  of  landed  estate,  and  had  his 
son  educated  in  the  neighboring  towns  of  Cremona  and 
Milan.  He  was  taught  Greek,  and  appears  to  have  been 
imbued  with  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus.  He  went 
to  Rome,  where  he  obtained  the  patronage  of  Ma;cenas, 
and  afterwards  of  the  emperor  Augustus.  He  visited 
Greece,  and  on  his  return  to  Rome  was  taken  sick, 


EOMAN    LITERATURE.  89 

and  died  at  Brundusium,  19  B.  C.  According  to  his 
wish,  his  body  was  taken  to  Naples,  and  interred  two 
miles  from  the  city.* 

In  person,  Virgil  is  said  to  have  had  a  clownisli 
appdarance,  and  to  have  been  sliy,  diffident,  and  feeble 
in  health.  He  was  intimately  acquainted  with  all  the 
distinguished  persons  of  his  age,  and  his  friend  Horace 
has  commemorated  his  virtues  and  gentle  disposition. 
His  principal  works  are  the  Bucolics,  Georgics,  ami 
the  -iEneid. 

In  his  Bucolics,  Virgil  imitated  the  Idyls  of  The- 
ocritus, but  it  was  rather  in  the  form  than  the  spirit 
that  he  followed  his  Greek  original.  Italy,  indeed, 
furnished  no  characters  similar  to  the  simple  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  who  talk  and  sing  with  so  much 
truth  and  nature  in  the  Idyls.  He  was  therefore 
obliged  to  introduce  personages  and  scenes  which  did 
not  exist  in  his  own  country,  and  which  are  indeed 
unreal,  and  therefore  insipid,  creations  of  the  imagi- 
nation. 

The  Georgics  are  a  didactic  poem,  in  four  books, 
addressed  by  the  author  to  his  patron  Maecenas.  In 
the  first,  he  treats  of  the  cultivation  of  the  soil ;  in  the 
.second,  of  the  management  of  fruit-trees  ;  in  the  third, 
of  cattle;  and  in  the  fourth,  of  bees.  From  the  latter 
we  extract  the  following  passage  :  — 

"  Describe  we  next  tlie  nature  of  the  bees. 
Bestowed  by  Jove  for  secret  services  ; 
When,  by  the  linkUng  sound  of  timbrels  led, 
The  king  of  heaven  in  Cretan  caves  tiiey  fed. 

*  For  a  more  ample  notice  of  Virgil,  see  Lives  of  Famous 
Men  of  Ancient  Times.  ^ 


I  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

Of  all  the  race  of  animals,  alone 
The  bees  have  oominon  cities  of  their  own, 
And  common  sons ;  beneath  one  law  they  live  ; 
And  with  one  common  stock  their  traffic  drive. 
Each  has  a  certain  home,  a  several  stall  ; 
All  is  the  state's,  the  state  provides  for  all. 
Mindful  of  coming  cold,  they  share  the  pain, 
And  hoard  for  winter's  use  the  summer's  grain. 
Some  o'er  the  public  magazines  preside. 
And  some  are  sent  new  forage  to  provide  ; 
These  drudge  in  fields  abroad,  and  those  at  home 
Lay  deep  foundations  for  tiie  labored  comb. 
With  dew,  narcissus'  leaves,  and  clammy  gum. 
To  pitch  the  waxen  flooring  some  contrive, 
Some  nurse  the  future  nation  of  the  hive  : 
Sweet  honey  some  condense,  some  purge  the  fruit 
The  rest  in  cells  apart  the  liquid  nectar  shut. 
All  with  united  force  combine  to  drive 
The  lazy  drones  from  the  laborious  hive. 
With  envy  stung,  they  view  each  other's  deeds; 
With  diligence  the  fragrant  work  proceeds. 

Studious  of  honey,  each  in  his  degree, 
The  youthful  swain,  the  grave,  experienced  bee  ; 
That  in  the  field  —  tliis  in  affairs  of  state 
Employed  at  home,  abides  within  the  gate. 
To  fortify  the  combs,  to  build  the  wall. 
To  prop  the  ruins,  lest  the  fabric  fall ; 
But  late  at  night,  with  weary  pinions  come 
The  laboring  youth,  and  heavy  laden,  home. 
Plains,  meads,  and  orchards  all  the  day  he  plies, 
The  gleans  of  yellow  thyme  distend  his  thighs  ; 
He  spoils  the  saffron  flowers,  he  sips  the  blues 
Of  violets,  wilding  blooms,  and  willow  dews. 
Their  toil  is  common,  common  is  their  sleep  : 
They  shake  their  wings  when  day  begins  to  peep. 
Rush  through  the  city  gates  without  delay  ; 
Nor  ends  their  work  but  with  declining  day  : 


ROMAN    LITERATURE.  91 

Then,  having  spent  the  last  remains  of  light, 

They  give  their  bodies  due  repose  at  niglit, 

When  liollow  murmurs  of  their  evening  bells 

Dismiss  the  sleepy  swains,  and  toll  them  to  their  cells. 

When  once  in  bed,  their  weary  limbs  they  steep; 

No  buzzing  sounds  disturb  their  golden  sleep ; 

'Tis  sacred  silence  all.     Nor  dare  they  stray, 

When  rain  is  promised  on  a  stormy  day  ; 

But  near  the  city  walls  their  watering  take. 

Nor  forage  far,  but  short  excursions  make  : 

And  as,  when  empty  barks  on  billows  float, 

With  sandy  ballast  sailors  trim  the  boat. 

So  bees  bear  gravel-stones,  whose  poising  weight 

Steers  through  the  whistling  winds  their  steady  flight." 

The  iEneid  of  Virgil  is  the  great  national  epic  of 
the  Romans.  It  is  said  that  the  author,  who  had  spent 
eleven  years  in  its  composition,  was  still  dissatisfied 
with  it,  and  gave  instructions  in  his  will  that  it  should 
be  burned.  He  was  persuaded,  however,  to  change  its 
destination;  and,  bequeathing  it  to  his  friends  Tucca 
and  Varus,  it  was  published  after  his  death.  The 
poem  consists  of  twelve  books,  and  contains  the  story 
of  the  wanderings  of  /Eneas  and  his  friends,  from 
the  fall  of  Troy  to  their  final  settlement  in  Latium. 
The  following,  which  is  'descriptive  of  a  storm  which 
beset  the  emigrants  in  their  voyage  across  the  Med- 
iterranean, is  one  of  the  admired  passages  of  this  cel- 
ebrated poem:  — 

"  While  thus  the  pious  prince  his  fate  bewai!s, 
Fierce  Boreas  drove  against  his  flying  sails, 
And  rent  the  sheets  ;  the  raging  billows  rise, 
And  mount  the  tossing  vessel  to  the  skies  ; 
Nor  can  the  shivering  oars  sustain  the  blow  ; 
The  galley  gives  her  side,  and  turns  her  prow  ; 


92  ROJUN    LITERATURE. 

While  those  astern,  descending  down  the  steep, 

Through  gaping  waves  behold  the  boiling  deep  ! 

Three  ships  were  hurried  by  the  southern  blast, 

And  on  the  secret  shelves  with  fury  cast ! 

Those  hidden  rocks  th'  Ausonian  sailors  knew, 

They  called  them  altars  wlien  they  rose  in  view. 

And  showed  their  spacious  backs  above  the  flood  ' 

Three  more  fierce  Eurus,  in  his  angry  mood, 

Dashed  on  the  shallows  of  the  moving  sand, 

And  in  mid  ocean  left  them  moored  a-land  ! 

Orontes'  back,  that  bore  the  Lycian  crew, 

A  horrid  sight,  even  in  the  hero's  view, 

From  stem  to  stern,  by  waves  was  overborne  : 

The  trembling  pilot,  from  his  rudder  torn, 

Was  headlong  hurled  ;  thrice  round  the  ship  was  tost, 

Then  bilged  at  once,  and  in  the  deep  was  lost ! 

And  here  and  there,  above  the  waves,  were  seen 

Arms,  pictures,  precious  goods,  and  floating  men  ! 

The  stoutest  vessel  to  the  storm  gave  way. 

And  sucked  through  loosened  planks  the  rushing  sea. 

llioneus  was  her  chief;  Alethes  old, 

Achates  faithful,  Abas  young  and  bold. 

Endured  not  less  ;  their  ships,  with  gaping  seams. 

Admit  the  deluge  of  the  briny  streams  ! 

Meanwhile,  imperial  Neptune  heard  the  sound 
Of  raging  billows  breaking  on  the  ground  ; 
Displeased,  and  fearing  for  his  watery  reign. 
He  reared  his  awful  head  above  the  main. 
Serene  in  majesty  ;  then  rolled  his  eyes 
Around  this  space  of  earth,  and  sea,  and  skies. 
He  saw  the  Trojan  fleet,  dispersed,  distressed, 
By  stormy  winds  and  wintry  heaven  oppressed. 
Full  well  the  god  his  sister's  envy  knew. 
And  what  her  arms,  and  what  her  arts  pursue 
He  summoned  Eurus  and  the  western  blast. 
And  first  an  angry  glance  on  both  he  cast ; 
Then  thus  rebuked  :  '  Audacious  winds  !  from  whence 
This  bold  attempt,  this  rebel  insolence  .' 


ROMAN    LITERATURii.  93 

is  it  for  yoii  to  ravage  seas  and  land, 

Unauthorized  by  my  supreme  command  ? 

To  raise  such  mountains  on  the  troubled  main  ? 

Whom  1  —  But  first,  'tis  fit  the  billows  to  restrain, 

And  then  you  shall  be  taught  obedience  to  my  reign 

Hence  !  to  your  lord  my  royal  mandate  bear  ; 

The  realms  of  ocean,  and  the  fields  of  air. 

Are  mine,  not  his  ;  by  fatal  lot  to  me 

The  liquid  empire  fell,  and  trident  of  the  sea 

His  power  to  hollow  caverns  is  confined  ; 

There  let  him  reign,  the  jailer  of  the  wind  ; 

With  hoarse  commands  his  breathing  subjects  call, 

And  boast  and  bluster  in  his  empty  hall  I  ' 

He  spoke,  and  while  he  spoke,  he  smoothed  the  sea, 

Dispelled  the  darkness,  and  restored  the  day." 

In  the  composition  of  the  ^ncicl,  Virgil  followed  the 
Odyssey  and  Iliad,  and  is  therefore  destitute  of  the 
merit  of  invention.  His  Trojan  heroes  are  insipid 
personages,  and  ^Eneas,  the  chief  actor,  fails  to  e.xcite 
any  deep  sympathy.  The  subject  of  the  poem  is 
indeed  barren;  but  the  author  skilfully  associated  the 
fortunes  of  Rome  with  the  illustrious  names  of  Troy, 
and,  by  flattering  the  vanity  of  the  Romans,  imparted 
to  it  an  adventitious  interest.  He  scattered  over  his 
work  an  abundance  of  antiquarian  lore ;  and  if  he  had 
no  originality,  he  at  least  possessed  good  taste.  His 
poem  can  bear  no  comparison  with  the  Iliad,  as  a  com- 
plete work  ;  it  does  not  abide  in  the  memory  as  an 
entire  poem,  yet  numerous  single  passages  are  remem- 
bered with  pleasure.  If  Virgil  was  the  most  popular 
of  the  Roman  poets,  it  is  rather  because  of  the  skill 
with  which  he  ministered  to  the  pride  of  the  Roman 
people,  than  from  any  positive  superiority  of  genius 
over  his  rivals. 


f5»  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

Horatius  Q.  Flaccus  was  born  at  Vcnutia.  His 
father  was  a  freedman  ;  and,  though  poor,  he  bestowed 
a  liberal  education  on  his  son,  and  sent  him  to  learn 
philosophy  at  Athens,  after  he  had  received  the  les- 
sons of  the  best  masters  at  Rome.  Horace  followed 
Brutus  from  Athens  ;  but  the  timidity  which  he  betrayed 
at  the  battle  of  Philippi  so  effectually  discouraged  him, 
that  he  forever  abandoned  the  profession  of  arms ;  and  at 
his  return  to  Rome,  he  applied  himself  to  the  cultivation 
of  poetry.  His  rising  talents  claimed  the  attention  of 
Virgil  and  Varus,  who  recommended  him  to  the  care 
of  Ma3cenas  and  Augustus.  Under  the  fostering  pat- 
ronage of  the  emperor  and  of  his  minister,  Horace 
gave  himself  up  to  indolence  and  luxurious  pleasure. 
.  He  was  a  follower  of  Epicurus ;  and  while  he  liberally 
indulged  his  appetites,  he  neglected  the  calls  of  ambi- 
tion, and  never  suffered  himself  to  be  carried  away  by 
the  tide  of  popularity.  He  even  refused  to  be  the  sec- 
retary of  Augustus,  and  the  emperor  was  not  offended 
at  his  refusal.  He  lived  at  the  table  of  his  illustrious 
patrons,  as  if  he  were  in  his  own  house ;  and  Augustus, 
while  sitting  at  his  meals,  with  Virgil  at  his  right  hand 
and  Horace  at  his  left,  often  ridiculed  the  short  breath 
of  the  former  and  the  watery  eyes  of  the  latter,  by 
observing  that  he  sat  between  sighs  and  tears. 

Horace  was  warm  in  his  friendships  ;  and  if  ever  any 
ill-judged  reflection  had  caused  offence,  the  poet  im- 
mediately made  every  concession  which  could  effect  a 
reconciliation,  and  not  destroy  the  good  purposes  of 
friendly  society.  He  died  in  the  57th  year  of  his  age, 
8  B.  C.  His  gayety  was  adapted  to  the  liveliness  and 
dissipation  of  a  court.     His  intimacy  with    Maecenas 


ROMAN    LITERATURE.  95 

has  induced  some  to  believe  that  his  death  was  volun- 
tary, and  that  he  hastened  himself  out  of  the  world  to 
accompany  his  friend.  His  17th  ode  gives  some  color 
of  credibility  to  this  account. 

The  poetry  of  Horace,  so  much  commended  for  its 
elegance  and  sweetness,  is  deservedly  censured  for  the 
licentious  expressions  and  indelicate  thoughts  which  he 
loo  frequently  introduces.  In  his  odes,  he  has  imitated 
Pindar  and  Anacreon  ;  and  if  he  has  confessed  himself 
to  be  inferior  to  the  former,  he  has  shown  that  he  bears 
the  palm  over  the  latter  by  his  more  ingenious  and 
refined  sentiments,  by  the  ease  and  melody  of  his  ex- 
pressions, and  by  the  pleasing  variety  of  his  numbers. 
In  his  satires  and  epistles,  Horace  displayed  much  wit 
and  satirical  humor,  without  much  poetry  ;  and  his  style, 
simple  and  unadorned,  differs  little  from  prosaical  com- 
position. In  his  "  Art  of  Poetry,"  he  has  shown  much 
taste  and  judgment,  and  has  rendered,  in  Latin  hexam- 
eters, what  Aristotle  had  some  years  before  delivered 
to  his  ptipils  in  Greek  prose.  The  following  lines 
appear  appropriate  to  the  voluptuous  character  of  the 
writer :  — 

To  his  Cask. 

"  Gentle  cask  of  mellow  wine, 
And  of  equal  age  with  mine  ;  — 
Whether  you  to  broils,  or  mirth, 
Or  to  madding  love,  give  birth  ; 
Or  the  toper's  temples  steep 
Sweetly  in  ambrosial  sleep  j 
For  whatever  various  use 
You  preserve  the  golden  juice, 
Worthy  of  some  festal  hour,  — 
Now  the  hoary  vintage  pour  : 


96.  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

Come  —  Corvinus,  gucet  divine, 
Bids  me  draw  the  smoothest  wine. 

Though  with  science  deep  imbued, 
He,  not  like  a  cynic  rude, 
Thee  despises;  for  of  old 
Cato's  virtue,  we  are  told, 
Often  with  a  bumper  glowed. 
And  with  social  raptures  flowed. 

You  by  gentle  tortures  ofl 
Melt  hard  tempers  into  soft; 
You  strip  off  the  grave  disguise 
From  the  counsels  of  the  wise. 
And  with  Bacchus,  blithe  and  gay, 
Bring  them  to  the  face  of  day. 
Hope,  by  thee,  fair  fugitive  ! 
Bids  the  wretched  strive  to  live  ; 
To  the  beggar  you  dispense 
Heart  and  brow  of  confidence  ; 
Warmed  by  thee,  he  scorns  to  fear 
Tyrant's  frown  or  soldier's  spear. 

Bacchus  boon,  and  Venus  fair, — 
If  she  come  with  cheerful  air,  — 
And  the  Graces,  charming  band  ! 
Ever  dancing  hand  in  hand  ;  — 
And  the  living  taper's  flame 
Shall  prolong  the  purple  stream. 
Till  returning  Phoebus  bright 
Puts  the  lazy  stars  to  flight." 

Tibullus  was  a  Roman  knight,  who  followed  Messala 
Corvinus  into  the  Island  of  Corcyra ;  but  he  was  soon 
dissatisfied  with  the  toils  of  war,  and  retired  to  Rome, 
where  he  gave  himself  up  to  literary  ease,  and  to  all 
the  effeminate  indolence  of  an  Italian  climate.  His 
first  composition  was  designed  to  celebrate  the  virtues 
of  his  friend  Messala  ;  but  his  more  favorite  aim  was 
that  of  love  vei-ses,  in  which  he  showed  himself  the 


ROMAN    LITERATLRK.  97 

mcst  correct  of  ihc  Roman  poets.  As  he  had  espoused 
the  cause  of  Brutus,  he  lost  his  possessions  when  the 
soldiers  of  the  triumvirate  were  rewarded  with  lands  ; 
but  he  might  have  recovered  them  if  he  had  con- 
descended, like  Virgil,  to  make  his  court  to  Augustus. 
Four  books  of  elegies  are  the  only  remaining  pieces 
of  his  composition.  They  are  marked  with  so  much 
elegance,  grace,  and  purity  of  sentiment,  that  the 
writer  is  deservedly  ranked  as  the  prince  of  elegiac 
poets.  Tibullus  was  intimate  with  the  literary  men  of 
his  age,  and  Ovid  wrote  a  beautiful  elegy  on  his  death. 
The    foUowine:    fragment    will    "ive    an    idea   .of    his 


Hope. 

"  Thousands  in  death  would  seek  an  end  of  woe  : 
But  Hope,  deceitful  Hope,  prevents  the  blow  ! 
Hope  plants  the  forest,  and  she  sows  the  plain, 
And  feeds  with  future  granaries  the  swain. 
Hope  snares  the  winged  vagrants  of  the  sky ; 
Hope  cheats  in  reedy  brooks  the  scaly  fry. 
By  Hope,  the  fettered  slave,  the  drudge  of  fate, 
Sings,  shakes  his  irons,  and  forgets  his  state. 
Hope  promised  you  :  you,  haughty,  still  deny  ; 
Yield  to  the  goddess ;  O  my  fair,  comply. 
Hope  whispered  me,  '  Give  sorrow  to  the  wind  ! 
The  haughty  fair  one  shall  at  last  be  kind.' 
Yet,  yet  you  treat  me  with  the  same  disdain  ; 
O,  let  not  Hope's  fond  whispers  prove  in  vain  !  " 

Publius  Naso  Ovidius  was  born  at  Sulmo,  in  the 
ye«r  43  B.  C.  He  was  educated  for  the  bar ;  but  his 
love  of  the  Muses  overcame  all  obstacles,  and  he 
Ixcamo    a    poet.     His    verses    S'jun    found   admirrr*?  ; 

G         XVII. — 9 


98  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

Virgil,  Tibullus,  Horace,  Propcrtius,  and  others,  be- 
stowed upon  him  their  encouragement ;  and  Augustus 
honored  him  with  the  most  unbounded  hberality. 
These  favors  were,  however,  but  momentary,  for  the 
poet  was  soon  after  banished  to  Tomos,  on  the  Euxine 
Sea.  The  cause  of  this  exile  has  ever  remained  a 
secret.  Ovid  sought,  with  cringing  servility,  to  obtain 
his  recall ;  but  this  was  without  effect,  and  he  died  in 
the  eighth  year  of  his  banishment,  A.  D.  17, 

The  greater  part  of  Ovid's  poems  are  preserved. 
His  Metamorphoses  is  curious  and  valuable  as  a  store- 
house of  mythological  history,  but  it  has  no  claim  to 
the  rank  of  an  epic  poem.  His  Art  of  Love  displays 
great  elegance  of  diction  ;  but,  like  most  other  poetry  of 
this  period,  it  is  marked  with  gross  licentiousness.  He 
must,  however,  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  vig- 
orous, original,  and  racy,  of  the  Roman  poets.  The 
following  is  extracted  from  one  of  his  poems,  entitled 
Phaeton,  and  recites  the  well-known  fable  of  that  youth 
who  asked  permission  of  his  father,  Phoebus,  to  drive  the 
chariot  of  the  sun  in  its  course  for  a  single  day.  The 
endeavors  of  the  father  to  dissuade  the  youth  from  the 
rash  undertaking  are  given  in  the  following  words  :  — 

"  Too  vast  and  hazardous  the  task  appears, 

Nor  suited  to  thy  strength,  nor  to  thy  years. 

Thy  lot  is  mortal,  but  thy  wishes  fly 

Beyond  the  province  of  mortality. 

There  is  not  one  of  all  the  gods  that  dares 

(Plowever  skilled  in  other  great  affairs) 

To  mount  the  burning  axle-tree  but  I. 

Not  Jove  himself,  the  ruler  of  the  sky, 

That  hurls  the  three-forked  thunder  from  above, 

Dares  try  his  strength ;  yet  who  so  strong  as  JoTe  ? 


ROMAN    LITERATURE.  99 

The  steeds  climb  up  the  first  ascent  with  pain  ; 

And  when  the  middle  firmament  they  gain, 

If  downward  from  tlie  heavens  my  head  I  bow. 

And  see  the  earth  and  ocean  hang  below, 

Even  I  am  seized  with  horror  and  affright, 

And  my  own  heart  misgives  me  at  the  sight  : 

A  mighty  downfall  steep  's  the  evening's  stage, 

And  steady  reins  must  curb  the  horses'  rage : 

Tethys  herself  has  feared  to  see  me  driven, 

Down,  headlong,  from  the  precipice  of  heaven. 

Besides,  consider  what  impetuous  force 

Turns  stars  and  planets  in  a  different  course. 

I  steer  against  their  motions ;  nor  am  I 

Borne  back  by  all  the  current  of  the  sky. 

But  how  could  you  resist  the  orbs  that  roll. 

In  adverse  winds,  and  stem  the  rapid  pole  ? 

But  you,  perhaps,  may  hope  for  pleasing  woods, 

And  stately  domes,  and  cities  filled  with  gods ; 

While  through  a  thousand  snares  your  progress  liea, 

Where  forms  of  starry  monsters  stock  the  skies ; 

For,  should  you  hit  the  doubtful  w.ay  aright, 

The  Bull,  with  stooping  horns,  stands  opposite ; 

Next  him,  the  bright  llajmonian  Bow  is  strung, 

And  next,  the  Lion's  grinning  visage  hung ; 

The  Scorpion's  claws  here  clasp  a  wide  extent; 

And  here  the  Crab's  in  lesser  clasps  are  bent. 

Nor  would  you  find  it  easy  to  compose 

The  mettled  steeds,  when  from  their  nostrils  flows 

The  scorching  fire  tliat  in  their  entrails  glows. 

E'en  I  their  headstrong  fur}'  scarce  restrain. 

When  they  grow  warm  and  restive  to  the  rein. 

Let  not  my  son  a  fital  gift  require, 

But  O,  in  time  recall  your  rash  desire." 

Phaeton,  however,  persists  in  his  request ;  the  father 
at  last  yields  to  his  importunity,  and  the  chariot  is 
brought  forth. 


100  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

"A  golden  axle  did  the  work  uphold  ; 

Gold  was  the  beam,  the  wheels  were  orbed  witli  gold. 

The  spokes  in  rows  of  silver  pleased  the  sight; 

The  seat  with  party-colored  gems  was  bright; 

Apollo  shined  amid  the  glare  of  light. 

The  youth  with  secret  joy  the  work  surveys, 

When  now  the  moon  disclosed  her  purple  rays ; 

The  stars  were  fled,  for  Lucifer  had  chased 

The  stars  away,  and  fled  himself  at  last. 

Soon  as  the  father  saw  the  rosy  morn, 

And  the  moon  shining  with  a  blunter  horn. 

He  bade  the  nimble  Hours  without  delay 

Bring  forth  the  steeds ;  the  nimble  Hours  obey  : 

From  their  full  racks  the  generous  steeds  retire. 

Dropping  ambrosial  foam,  and  snorting  fire. 

Still  anxious  for  his  son,  the  God  of  Day, 

To  make  him  proof  against  the  burning  ray, 

His  temples  with  celestial  ointments  wet. 

Of  sovereign  virtue  to  repel  the  heat; 

Then  fixed  the  beamy  circle  on  his  head, 

And  fetched  a  deep,  foreboding  sigh,  and  said, — 

♦  Take  this,  at  least,  this  last  advice,  my  son ; 

Keep  a  stiff  rein,  and  move  but  gently  on  : 

The  coursers  of  themselves  will  run  too  fast; 

Tour  art  must  be  to  moderate  their  haste  ; 

Drive  them  not  on  directly  through  the  skies, 

But  where  the  zodiac's  winding  circle  lies. 

Along  the  midmost  zone ;  but  sally  forth 

Nor  to  the  distant  south,  nor  stormy  north. 

The  horses'  hoofs  a  beaten  track  will  show, 

But  neither  mount  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 

That  no  new  fires  on  earth  or  heaven  infest; 

Keep  the  mid  way  —  the  middle  way  is  best. 

Nor,  where  in  radiant  folds  the  Serpent  twines. 

Direct  your  course,  nor  where  the  Altar  shines. 

Shun  both  extremes  ;  the  rest  let  fortune  guide, 

And  better  for  thee  than  thyself  provide  ! 


ROMAN    LITERATURE.  101 

See,  while  I  speak,  the  shades  disperse  away ; 
Aurora  gives  tlie  promise  of  a  day  : 
I'm  called,  nor  can  I  make  a  lonircr  stay. 
Snatch  up  the  reins ;  or  still  th'  attempt  forsake. 
And  not  my  chariot,  but  my  counsel  take, 
While  yet  securely  on  the  earth  you  stand, 
Nor  touch  the  horses  with  too  rough  a  hand. 
Let  me  alone  to  light  the  world,  while  you 
Enjoy  those  beams  which  you  may  safely  view.* 
He  spoke  in  vain ;  the  j'outh,  with  active  heat 
And  sprightly  vigor,  vaults  into  the  seat. 
And  joys  to  hold  the  reins,  and  fondly  gives 
Those  thanks  his  father  witli  remorse  receives." 

The  career  of  the  improvident  youth  is  well  known. 
After  driving  through  a  j)art  of  his  course,  the  horses 
turned  from  their  track,  and  ll)e  burning  chariot  ap- 
proached the  earth,  involving  whole  regions  in  terrific 
conflagration.  Jupiter  beheld  the  awful  catastrophe, 
and  hurled  a  fiery  shaft  at  the  imprudent  charioteer. 

"  At  once  from  life  and  from  the  chariot  driven, 

The  ambitious  boy  fell  tiiunderstruck  from  heaven. 

The  horses  started  with  a  sudden  bound. 

And  flung  the  reins  and  chariot  to  the  ground. 

The  studded  harness  from  their  necks  they  broke  ; 

Here  fell  a  wheel,  and  here  a  silver  spoke  ; 

Here  were  the  beam  and  axle  torn  away  ; 

And,  scattered  o'er  the  earth,  the  shining  fragments  lay. 

The  brealiiless  Phaoton,  with  llaming  hair, 

Shot  from  tlie  chariot  like  a  falling  star, 

That  in  a  summer's  evening  from  the  top 

Of  heaven  drops  down,  or  seem.s  at  lea.4t  tu  drop  ; 

Till  on  the  Po  his  blasted  corpse  was  hurled, 

Far  from  his  country,  in  the  western  world." 

Decius  Junius  Juvcnalis  was  born  at  a  later  period, 
and  flourished  during  the  reign  of  Nero.     Ilis  native 
9* 


102  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

place  was  Aquinum  ;  but  he  came  early  to  Rome, 
where  he  first  appeared  in  public  as  a  declaimer.  He 
soon  after  devoted  himself  to  the  composition  of  satires, 
sixteen  of  which  are  extant.  His  writings  are  fiery, 
animated,  and  abounding  in  humor.  His  shafts  were 
levelled  not  only  at  the  vices  of  his  times,  but  against 
mankind  at  large,  thus  seeming  to  make  virtue  an 
impossibility  in  actual  life.  His  writings,  therefore, 
are  more  likely  to  injure  than  to  benefit  the  cause  of 
morals.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  his  cele- 
brated tenth  satire :  — 

"  Look  round  the  habitable  world ;  how  few 

Know  their  own  good,  or,  knowing  it,  pursue  ! 

How  void  of  reason  are  our  hopes  and  fears  ! 

What,  in  the  conduct  of  our  life,  appears 

So  well  designed,  so  luckily  begun. 

But,  when  we  have  our  wish,  we  wish  undone .' 

Whole  houses,  of  their  whole  desires  possessed, 

Are  often  ruined  at  their  own  request. 

In  war  and  peace  things  hurtful  we  require, 

When  made,  obnoxious  to  our  own  desire. 

With  laurels  some  have  fatally  been  crowned. 
Some  who  the  depths  of  eloquence  have  found, 
In  that  unnavigable  stream  were  drowned. 

The  brawny  fool,  who  did  his  vigor  boast, 
In  that  presuming  confidence  was  lost : 
But  more  have  been  by  avarice  oppressed, 
And  heaps  of  money  crowded  in  the  chest : 
Unwieldy  sums  of  wealth,  which  higher  mount 
Than  files  of  marshalled  figures  can  account; 
To  which  the  stores  of  Croesus,  in  the  scale, 
Would  look  like  little  dolphins,  when  they  sail 
In  the  vast  shadow  of  the  British  whale. 

For  this,  in  Nero's  arbitrary  time, 
Wten  Tirtue  was  a  guilt,  and  wealth  a  crime, 


BOMAN    LITERATURE.  103 

A  troop  of  cutthroat  guards  were  sent  to  seize 
The  rich  men's  goods,  and  gut  their  palaces  : 
The  mob  commissioned  by  the  government 
Are  seldom  to  an  empty  garret  sent. 
The  fearful  passenger,  who  travels  late, 
Charged  with  the  carriage  of  a  paltry  plate. 
Shakes  at  the  moonshine  shadow  of  a  rush, 
And  sees  a  red  coat  rise  from  every  bush  : 
The  beggar  sings  even  when  he  sees  the  place 
Beset  with  thieves,  and  never  mends  his  pace. 
Of  all  the  vows,  the  first  and  chief  request 
Of  each  is  to  be  richer  than  the  rest. 
And  yet  no  doubts  the  poor  man's  draught  control; 
He  dreads  no  poison  in  his  homely  bowl : 
Then  fear  the  deadly  drug,  when  gems  divine 
Enchase  the  cup,  and  sparkle  in  the  wine." 

Juvenal  died  in  the  year  A,  D.  128,  After  this 
period,  Roman  literature  appears  to  have  declined,  and 
a  false  taste  to  have  vitiated  the  great  bulk  of  the 
community.  Oratory  continued  to  form  the  chief 
study  in  the  education  of  the  higher  classes ;  yet 
sophistry  in  argument,  and  declamation  in  style,  were 
characteristics  of  the  age.  The  art  of  the  rhetorician 
is  visible  in  the  prose  of  Seneca  and  Pliny,  as  well  as 
in  the  poems  of  Lucan  and  Valerius  Flaccus.  All 
these  abandoned  nature,  and  seemed  only  striving  for 
effect. 

In  later  periods,  when  civil  commotions  prevailed, 
literary  pursuits  were  nearly  extinguished.  The 
Roman  people  at  large  l>ad  never  appreciated  the 
great  works  of  their  countrymen ;  and  when  the 
patronage  of  the  educated  and  wealthy  was  withdrawn, 
there  was  no  encouragement  to  literary  exertions.  By 
degrees  the  poets  dwindled  into  mere  versifiers,  and 


104  ROMAN    LITERATURE. 

the  historians  became  only  chroniclers  of  events.  All 
kinds  of  barbarisms  and  corruptions  crept  into  the 
language,  and  the  stream  of  Roman  literature  at  last 
disappeared  within  the  monastic  shadows  of  the  church. 
In  taking  a  retrospect  of  Roman  poetry,  we  cannot 
but  be  struck  with  its  external  and  physical  character. 
It  deals  almost  wholly  in  sensible  objects,  or  the  direct 
associations  which  spring  from  them.  There  is  no 
delving  into  the  caverns  of  the  soul,  no  roaming  on  the 
shoreless  sea  of  spiritual  life.  While  it  is  occupied 
with  material  nature,  it  lacks  the  sparkling  freshness, 
the  bounding  mirth  and  hilarity,  of  Grecian  song. 
When  compared  with  the  deep,  thoughtful,  spiritual 
productions  of  our  own  time,  it  appears  bald,  and 
almost  puerile.  It  may  be  said  of  Roman  literature, 
as  of  that  of  the  Greeks,  that  it  is  to  be  admired,  in  a 
great  degree,  from  a  consideration  of  the  time  and  cir- 
cumstances in  which  it  was  produced  ;  should  any 
author  of  our  day  write  a  poem  of  equal  merit,  and 
in  the  same  vein,  as  the  best  that  Roman  antiquity  has 
handed  down  to  us,  it  would  be  received  with  indif- 
ference, if  not  contempt.  It  is  not,  therefore,  the 
positive  merit  of  these  renowned  productions  which 
extorts  the  praise  of  mankind  ;  it  is,  at  least  in  part, 
the  associated  charm  of  antiquity  that  bestows  upon 
them  their  power. 


CHINESE    LITERATURE. 


As  in  many  other  arts,  so  in  that  of  printing,  tlie 
Chinese  preceded  tlic  Europeans.  Their  first  material 
for  writing  consisted  of  thin  slices  of  bamboo ;  but 
about  the  first  century  of  the  Christian  era,  they  made 
paper  of  a  pulp  of  silk  or  cotton,  immersed  in  water, 
according  to  the  present  method.  Their  modern  paper 
is  fine  and  delicate,  but  so  spongy  as  to  be  used  only 
on  one  side.  In  writing,  they  employ  the  hair  pencil, 
and  the  well-known  Indian  ink. 

In  the  tenth  century,  the  art  of  printing  was  invented, 
though  not  by  movable  types,  which  have  never  been 
used  by  the  Chinese.  Their  process  is  as  follows : 
the  sentence  or  page  is  written  distinctly  on  paper,  and 
then  pasted  upon  a  thin  block  of  wood.  The  engraver, 
following  the  direction  of  the  letters,  cuts  through  them 
into  the  wood,  which  is  thus  so  indented  that  a  sheet 
laid  over  and  pressed  upon  it,  receives  the  impression 
of  the  characters.  Thus  every  word  and  page  of  a 
book  is  engraved,  as  in  the  case  of  copperplate  en- 
graving with  us.  Though  the  process  is  less  expedi- 
tious tlian  ours,  with  movable  types,  still,  as  labor  is 
extremely  cheap  in  China,  printing  is  by  no  means 
dear,  and  books  are  abundant. 

The  language  of  the  Chinese  has  been  supposed  to 


106  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

be  SO  complicated  as  to  render  its  acquisition  almost 
hopeless  to  foreigners ;  but  this  error  has  been  dis- 
pelled by  modern  experience,  and  several  European 
sciiolars  are  now  well  acquainted  with  the  Chinese  lan- 
guage and  literature. 

The  roots,  or  original  characters,  of  the  Chinese  lan- 
guage, are  214  in  number.  These  were  at  first  pic- 
tures of  the  objects  they  represented  ;  but  in  the  course 
of  time,  they  have  ceased  to  have  any  great  resem- 
blance to  their  original  form,  and  may,  therefore,  be 
considered  as  arbitrary  signs  of  thought.  The  lan- 
guage of  the  Chinese  is  made  up  by  the  combinations 
of  these  214  characters,  just  as  various  numbers 
are  expressed  by  the  different  combinations  of  the 
Arabic  figures,  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  &c.  It  appears,  also,  that 
this  language,  when  printed,  is  understood  by  the  in- 
habitants of  Japan,  Corea,  Cochin  China,  and  Loo 
Choo,  who  could  by  no  means  hold  oral  converse 
with  a  Chinese.  This  fact  may  be  understood  by  con- 
sidering that  if  an  Italian  wishes  to  convey  to  you  the 
idea  of  tvventy-two,youwillreadi!y  understand  him  if  he 
will  write  22 ;  though  you  will  by  no  means  compre- 
hend his  words  for  the  same — venti-due.  We  thus  see 
that,  so  far  as  Europe  is  concerned,  in  respect  to  nu- 
merals, the  figures  1,  2,  3,  4,  &c.,  are  a  universal 
language  ;  for  though  they  have  difl!erent  names  among 
different  nations,  they  convey  to  all  precisely  the  same 
ideas.  It  is  in  the  same  way  that  the  written  language 
of  China  is  common  to  a  vast  f>opulation,  who  yet 
speak  as  differently  as  the  Italians,  French,  and 
English. 

From  the  earliest  ages,  literature  has  held  a  high 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  107 

place  in  China.  "The  literati,"  says  Dr.  Morrison, 
"are  the  gentry,  the  magistrates,  the  governors,  the 
negotiators,  the  ministers,  of  China."  The  absence 
of  hereditary  rank,  and  even  of  any  class  possessing 
great  riches,  leaves  the  field  entirely  open  to  this  spe- 
cies of  distinction.  When  the  parent  e.xhorts  his  child 
to  attend  to  his  lessons,  he  can  tell  him  with  truth  that 
he  may  thus  become  a  powerful  mandarin,  and  one  of 
the  first  personages  in  the  state.  From  these  causes,  a 
degree  of  veneration  is  attached  even  to  the  humblest 
objects  connected  with  the  art  of  writing.  Paper,  pen- 
cil, ink,  and  the  marble  on  which  this  last  is  dissolved, 
are  called  the  four  precious  things  ;  and  the  manufacture 
of  them  is  considered  a  liberal  occupation.  A  passage 
in  a  recently  translated  drama  strikingly  expresses  the 
brilliant  career  supposed  to  be  opened  to  a  village 
schoolmaster,  as  compared  even  with  that  of  a  pros- 
perous merchant.  "  If  you  are  successful  in  trade, 
from  a  little  money  you  make  much ;  but  if  you 
study  letters,  your  plebeian  garments  are  changed  for 
a  soldier's  gown.  If  you  compare  the  two,  how  much 
superior  is  the  literary  life  to  that  of  the  merchant  or 
tradesman!  When  you  shall  have  acquired  celebrity, 
men  will  vie  with  each  other  in  their  admiration  of 
you  ;  over  your  head  will  be  carried  the  round  um- 
brella ;  before  your  horse  will  be  marshalled  the  two 
files  of  attendants.  Think  of  the  toil  of  those  who 
traffic,  and  you  will  see  the  difiercnce." 

Despite  the  honor  thus  paid  to  men  of  letters,  Chi- 
nese literature  docs  not  hold  a  high  rank  when  com- 
pared with  our  own.  It,  however,  may  well  claim  our 
attention.      It   appears   that   the   great  works   of  the 


108  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

empire  arc  usually  composed  by  associated  members 
of  the  Haw-lin  Board,  under  the  authority,  and  printed 
at  the  expense,  of  government.  These  consist  chiefly 
of  histories,  dictionaries  of  the  language,  and  compen- 
diums  of  arts  and  sciences,  or  encyclopedias.  The 
authors  thus  employed  are,  of  course,  possessed  of 
suitable  materials  and  abundant  leisure,  and  are  not 
obliged  to  gratify  the  impatience,  or  court  the  taste,  of 
the  public.  Perhaps,  however,  the  very  circumstance 
of  writing  under  command,  and  the  dread  of  censure 
from  the  emperor  and  his  agents,  though  they  may  guard 
against  palpable  errors,  will  paralyze  the  powers  of 
invention  and  the  flights  of  genius.  The  career  of 
authorship,  however,  is  open  to  every  individual ; 
works  are  not  even  subjected  to  any  previous  censor- 
ship.; but  a  prompt  and  severe  punishment  awaits  the 
authors  of  those  which  contain  any  thing  offensive  to 
the  government. 

The  principal  subjects  of  Chinese  literature  are, — 
1.  Philosophy,  including  whatever  is  taught  of  the- 
ology and  general  physics ;  2.  History;  3.  The  Drama; 
and,  4.  Novels. 

In  the. first  and  most  important  of  these  departments, 
the  Chinese  refer  always  to  one  work,  —  the  Y-King, 
also  called  Ye-King,  Yih-King,  and  U-King,  —  as  the 
most  ancient  and  valuable  treasure.  Language  seems 
to  sink  under  the  panegyrics  which  they  lavish  upon  it, 
representing  it  as  the  fountain  and  centre  of  all  their 
knowledge.  According  to  Kang-hi,  who  studiously 
adopted  Chinese  ideas  on  these  subjects,  the  Y-King 
contains  all  things.  Fou-hi,  Chin-nong,  Hoang-ti,  Yao, 
and  Chun,  are  ruled  by  it.     The  occult  virtue,  and  the 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  109 

operations,  of  Heaven  and  man,  are  all  comprised  in  the 
Y-King.  Our  respect  for  this  mighty  production  is,  how- 
ever, not  a  little  lessened,  when  we  learn  that  it  was 
comprised  in  eight  half-legible  lines,  discovered  by  two 
sages  on  the  backs  of  a  drairon  and  a  tortoise  !     Taking 

o  o  o 

advantage  of  the  national  superstition,  Confucius  wrote 
an  elaborate  commentary  upon  the  Y-King,  which  was 
received  by  the  nation  with  the  deepest  respect,  and  was 
incorporated  with  the  original  work,  of  which  it  has  ever 
since  been  considered  as  an  essential  part.  It  was  said 
to  "  form  the  wings  on  which  the  Y-King  would  fly 
down  to  posterity."  It  is  probably  the  only  part  of  real 
value  ;  for  though  it  bears,  to  a  great  extent,  the  gen- 
eral character  of  incomprehensibility  which  belongs  to 
the  original,  it  is  interspersed  with  some  useful  and 
beautiful  maxims.  The  following  quotations  are  de- 
rived from  this  commentary  :  — 

"To  improve  from  day  to  day,  is  a  great  virtue.  He  who 
in  study  advances  a  step  every  daj',  has  not  lost  his  time  and 
his  years. 

The  path  of  Heaven  is  simple  and  clear ;  but  the  path 
of  the  sage  is  made  only  with  effort  and  perseverance. 

It  is  the  sage  alone  who  knows  how  to  advance  or  to  re- 
cede ;  to  preserve  or  to  see  destroyed,  without  losing  liis 
tranquillity :  it  is  only  the  sago  who  can  do  so. 

A  virtuous  man,  in  the  midst  of  difficulties,  will  adhere  to 
his  virtuous  purpose,  even  to  loss  of  life." 

Beside  the  Y-King,  the  Chinese  reckon  throe  other 
ancient  books,  or  king,  which  rank  with  it,  and  are 
held  in  almost  equal  veneration.  These  are  the  Shoo- 
King,  or  Chou-King,  a  collection  of  historical  documents 
edited  by  Confucius;  the  Shi-King,  or  Chi-King,  a  com- 
pilation of  ancient  poems  firmed  also  hv  Confucius  • 
XVII.— 10 


1  10  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

and  the  Li-ki,  or  Ly-ki,  which  treats  of  propriety  in  dress, 
demeanor,  conversation,  and  the  ordinary  conduct  of 
life.  In  the  Li-ki  are  concentrated  the  ideas  and 
maxims  of  the  ancient  Chinese  regarding  morals  and 
behavior  ;  and  it  has  probably  contributed  more  towards 
forming  their  character,  during  the  last  2000  years, 
than  all  the  other  classics  united. 

Confucius  was  born  in  the  year  549  B.  C,  and  is 
lustly  considered  the  greatest  of  Chinese  philosophers. 
His  works  are  to  this  day  held  in  the  greatest  rev- 
erence, and  constitute  the  most  cherished  portion  of 
Chinese  literature.  Their  practical  portion  consists 
chiefly  in  maxims  which  inculcate  the  virtues  of  jus- 
tice, patience,  mercy,  prudence,  and  fortitude  —  and, 
above  all,  obedience  to  superiors.  Filial  piety,  and 
the  duty  of  submission  to  magistracy,  were  his  favor- 
ite themes  of  commendation.  On  the  whole,  his  works 
furnish  a  pure  code  of  morals,  founded  in  the  good  of 
mankind,  without  reference  to  a  future  state.* 

We  have  not  space  to  notice  the  numerous  works  of 
philosophers  which  have  appeared  since  the  age  of 
Confucius,  nor  can  wc  enter  into  details  respecting 
several  other  topics  of  interest.  In  regard  to  medi- 
cine, though  the  Chinese  were  familiar  with  the  circula- 
tion of  the  blood  about  sixteen  centuries  before  it  was 
known  in  Europe,  and  though  inoculation  for  the 
small-pox  was  practised  by  them  some  hundred  years 
before  it  was  adopted  in  Christendom,  it  would  seem 
that  they  are  ignorant  of  anatomy,  and  that  their 
medical  practice  is  mingled  with  the  most  absurd 
jugglery. 

*  For  a  life  of  this  great  philosopher,  see  the  Laves  of  Fw 
7!ioits  Men  of  Ancicvf  Times. 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  Ill 

History  has  been  cultivated  by  the  Chinese  wi'.h 
great  assiduity,  and  they  possess  several  works  of  high 
repute  among  themselves.  That  which  is  entitled 
Koo-King  was  edited  by  Confucius,  contains  the  early 
annals  of  the  empire,  and  is  held  in  a  degree  of 
esteem  almost  amounting  to  reverence.  To  this  we 
may  add  that  *here  are  several  works  on  govern- 
ment, including  the  codes  of  laws  established  by  the 
empire. 

Poetry  is  pursued  with  ardor,  and  is  held  in  high 
esteem  by  the  Chinese  ;  yet  tlicir  works,  having  differ- 
ent objects  for  comparison  and  illustration  from  ours, 
and  different  trains  of  association,  can  hardly  be 
highly  relished  by  us.  Instead  of  the  Alps  or  the  Ap- 
ennines, the  grandeur  of  mountain  scenery  is  suggest- 
ed to  the  Chinese  by  the  Kevan-lun  and  the  Tan-yu 
chains,  which,  though  probably  more  elevated,  do 
not  convey  to  the  car  the  same  lofty  ideas.  For  the 
rose  and  the  violet,  we  have  the  flower  Ian,  and  the  herb 
yu-lu.  Instead  of  the  dove,  the  wild-goose  portrays 
to  Chinese  fancy  the  image  of  a,  tender  and  faithful 
lover. 

It  would  appear  that  Chinese  verse  is  not  destitute 
of  harmony,  and  that  rhyme  is  often  used,  sometimes 
even  to  an  extent  of  sixteen  consecutive  lines.  The 
following  extracts  from  the  Shi-King  afford  a  good 
specimen  of  the  more  ancient  poetry  :  — 

"Tbo  bland  south  wind  brcatlics  upon  and  cherishes  the 
sap  of  thcsr  plants;  hence  the  grove  flourishes,  and  appears  to 
rise  anew.     But  our  mother  is  distressed  with  labor  and  care. 

The  bland  south  wind  cherishes  by  breathing  on  them 
the  woodi  of  this  grove.  Our  mother  excels  in  prudence 
and  understanding,  but  we  arc  men  of  no  estimation. 


112  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

The  cool  fountain,  bursting  forth,  waters  the  lower  part 
of  the  region  Tsun.  We  are  seven  sons,  whose  mother  is 
oppressed  by  various  cares  and  labors. 

Sweetly,  tunefully,  and  with  unbroken  voice,  sings  the 
saffron-bird  hoang-niao.  We  seven  sons  afford  no  assistance 
to  our  parent." 

There  is  some  pathos  in  this  complaint  of  broken 
friendship :  — 

"  The  soft  and  gentle  wind  brings  rain  along  with  it.  I 
and  thou  were  sharers  in  labor  and  in  jxjverty ;  then  you 
cherished  me  in  your  bosom ;  now,  having  become  happy, 
you  have  left  me,  and  are  lost  to  me. 

The  wind  is  soft  and  gentle ;  yet  when  it  blows  over  the 
tops  of  the  mountains,  every  plant  withers,  every  tree  is 
dried  up.  You  forget  my  virtues,  and  tliiikk  only  of  trifling 
complaints  against  me." 

The  epithalamia,  celebrating  the  marriage  of  princes, 
are  among  the  gayest  pieces  in  this  collection.  The 
picture  of  a  perfect  beauty,  drawn  three  thousand 
years  ago,  is  illustrated  by  images  very  different  from 
those  which  would  occur  to  a  European  fancy. 

"  The  great  lady  is  of  lofty  stature,  and  wears  splendid 
robes  beneath  others  of  a  dark  color.  She  is  the  daughter  of 
the  king  of  Tsi ;  she  marries  the  king  of  Onei ;  the  king  of 
Hing  has  married  her  elder  sister;  the  Prince  Tari-Kong 
has  married  the  younger. 

Her  hands  are  like  a  budding  and  tender  plant ;  the  skin 
of  her  face  resembles  well-prepared  fat.  Her  neck  is  like 
one  of  the  worms  Tsion  and  Tsi.  Her  teeth  are  like  the 
kernels  of  the  gourd.  Her  eyebrows  resemble  the  light 
filaments  of  newly-formed  silk.  She  smiles  most  sweetly, 
and  her  laugh  is  agreeable.  The  pupil  of  her  eye  is  black, 
and  how  well  are  the  white  and  black  distinguished  I  " 

The  following  invitation  to  decent  gayety  is  given  at 
the  entrance  of  the  new  year  —  a  grand  period  of 
Chinese  festival  :  — 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  113 

"  Now  the  crickets  have  crept  into  the  house  ;  now  the 
end  of  the  year  approaches  ;  let  us  indulge  in  gayety,  lest  the 
sun  and  moon  should  seem  to  have  finished  their  course  in 
vain  ;  but  amid  our  joy  let  there  be  no  offence  against  the 
rules  of  moderation.  Nothing  should  transgress  the  proper 
bound.  Duty  must  still  be  remembered.  Sweet  is  pleasure, 
but  it  must  be  conjoined  with  virtue.  The  good  man,  in  the 
midst  of  his  joy,  keeps  a  strict  watch  over  himself." 

The  disorders  of  a  drunken  party  arc  not  ill  por- 
trayed in  the  following  passage  :  — 

"  The  guests  sit  down  at  first  with  groat  politeness,  treat- 
ing each  other  with  mutual  respect;  thus  they  continue  till 
overcome  with  wine.  They  then  forget  all  modesty  and 
propriety,  —  run  dancing  backward  and  forward.  They  raise 
wild  and  senseless  shouts,  overturn  the  most  precious  cups, 
dance  in  sport,  and,  as  they  dance,  their  feet  slide  from  be- 
neath them  ;  their  cap,  inverted,  becomes  loosely  attached  to 
the  head,  and  seems  about  to  fall  off;  while  their  body  bends 
this  way  and  that,  and  they  can  scarcely  stand  ;  still  they 
madly  dance.  Some  run  wildly  away,  amid  tumultuous 
good  wishes  from  the  rest ;  others  remain,  and  infringe  the 
laws  of  virtue.  It  is  well  to  indulge  in  wine;  but  modera- 
tion must  be  carefully  observed." 

The  modern  compositions,  though  not  held  in  the 
same  veneration,  appear  to  display  a  considerable  im- 
provement. They  arc  still,  indeed,  only  short  effu- 
sions, composed  of  mingled  reflection  and  imagery  ; 
but  these  two  elements  are  more  naturally  and  inti- 
mately blended,  and  exhibited  in  a  more  poetical  form. 
Mr.  Davis  has  furnished  us  with  some  specimens  of 
this  school.  The  following  is  marked  by  peculiarly 
bold  and  lofty  imagery  :  — 

"  See    the    fine    variegated    peaks   of  yon    mountain,    con- 
nected like  the  fingers  of  the  hand. 
And  rising  up  from  the  south,  as  a  wall  midway  to  heaven. 
H  10* 


114  CHINESE   LITERATURE. 

At  night,  it  would  pluck,  from  the  inverted  concave,  the  stars 
of  the  milky  way  ; 

During  the  day,  it  explores  the  zenitli,  and  plays  with  the 
clouds. 

The  rain  has  ceased,  and  the  shining  summits  are  apparent 
in  the  void  expanse. 

The  moon  is  up,  and  looks  like  a  bright  pearl  over  the  ex- 
panded palm. 

One  might  imagine  that  the  Great  Spirit  had  stretched  forth 
an  arm 

From  afar,  from  beyond  the  sea,  and  was  numbering  the 
nations." 

The  picture  of  a  clever  but  reckless  profligate  is 
drawn  with  some  force  in  the  following  lines :  — 

"  The  paths  of  trouble  heedlessly  he  braves. 
Now  shines  a  wit,  and  now  a  madman  raves. 
His  outward  form  by  nature's  bounty  dressed, 
Foul  weeds  usurped  the  wilderness,  his  breast ; 
And  bred  in  tumult,  ignorant  of  rule. 
He  hated  letters  —  an  accomplished  fool. 
In  act  depraved,  contaminate  in  mind. 
Strange,  had  he  feared  the  censures  of  mankind 
Titles  and  wealth  to  him  no  joys  impart ; 
By  penury  pinched,  he  sank  beneath  the  smart. 
O  wretch  !  to  flee  the  good  thy  fate  intends  ! 
O,  hopeless  to  thy  country  and  thy  friends ! 
In  uselessness  the  first  beneath  the  sky. 
And  curst  in  sinning  with  supremacy. 
Minions  of  pride  and  luxury,  lend  an  ear, 
And  shun  his  follies,  if  his  fate  ye  fear." 

The  following  poem  was  written  by  a  Chinese  who 
paid  a  visit  to  London  about  the  year  1813.  It  was 
written  in  his  native  tongue,  and  addressed  to  his  coun- 
nymen.     The  translation  is  furnished  by  Mr.  Davia. 


CHINESE    LITERAVURE.  115 

Loudon. 

"  Afar  in  the  ocean,  towards  the  extremities  of  the  north-west, 

There  is  a  nation,  or  country,  called  England. 

The  clime  is  frigid,  and  you  are  compelled  to  approach  the 

fire. 
The  houses  are  so  lofty  that  you  may  pluck  tlie  stars. 
The  pious  inhabitants  respect  the  ceremonies  of  worship, 
And  the  virtuous  among  them  ever  read  the  sacred  books. 
They  bear  a  peculiar  enmity  towards  the  French  nation 
The  weapons  of  war  rest  not  for  a  moment  between  thera. 

Their  fertile  hills,  adorned  witli  the  richest  luxuriance) 

Resemble  in  the  outline  of  their  summits  tlie  arched  eye- 
brow of  a  fair  woman. 

The  inhabitants  are  inspired  with  a  respect  for  the  female 
sex, 

Who  in  this  land  corresjwnd  with  the  perfect  features  of 
nature. 

Their  young  maidens  have  checks  resembling  red  blossoms, 

And  the  complexion  of  their  beauties  is  like  the  white  gem. 

Of  old  has  connubial  affection  been  highly  esteemed  among 
them, 

Husband  and  wife  delighting  in  mutual  harmony. 

In  the  summer  evenings,  through  the  hamlets  and  gardens 

beyond  the  town, 
Crowds  of  walkers  ramble  without  number. 
The  grass  is  allowed  to  grow  as  a  provision  for  horses. 
And  enclosures  of  wooden  rails  form  pastures  for  cattle. 
The  harvest  is  gathered  in  with  the  singing  of  songs ; 
The  loiterers  roam  in  search  of  flowers  without  end, 
And  call  to  each  other  to  return  in  good  time, 
Lest  the  foggy  clouds  bewilder  and  detain  them. 

The  two  banks  of  the  river  lie  to  the  north  and  south ; 
Three  bridges  interrupt  the  stream,  and  form  a  communi 
cation ; 


116  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

Vessels  of  every  kind  pass  between  the  arches, 

While  men  and  horses  pace  among  the  clouds. 

A  thousand  masses  of  stone  rise  one  above  the  other, 

And  the  river  flows  through  nine  channels : 

The  bridge  of  Loyang,  which  out-tops  all  in  our  empire. 

Is  in  shape  and  size  somewhat  like  these. 

It  is  a  rich,  populous,  and  highly-adorned  land ; 

Its  workmen  vie  with  each  other  in  the  excellence  of  their 
manufactures. 

Within  the  circuit  of  tlie  imperial  residence  is  a  splendid 
palace. 

Lofty  trees  are  immingled  with  unnumbered  dwellings. 

The  young  gentry  ride  in  wheeled  carriages,  and  on  horse- 
back ; 

And  the  fair  womon  clothe  themselves  in  silken  garments, 

The  towering  edifices  rise  story  above  story, 
In  all  the  stateliness  of  splendid  mansions. 
Railings  of  iron  thicklj'  stud  the  sides  of  every  entrance, 
And  streams  from  the  river  circulate  through  the  walls. 
The  sides  of  each  apartment  are  variegated  with  devices ; 
Through   the    windows    of  glass    appear  the    scarlet   hang- 
ings; 
And  in  the  street  itself  is  presented  a  beautiful  scene. 
The  congregated  buildings  having  all  the  aspect  of  a  picture. 

In  London,  about  the  period  of  the  ninth  moon, 

The  inhabitants  delight  in  travelling  to  a  distance ; 

They  change   their   abodes,  and   betake   themselves  to  the 

country, 
Visiting  their  friends  in  their  rural  retreats. 
The  prolonged  sound  of  carriages  and  steeds  is  heard  through 

the  day ; 
Then  in  autumn  the  prices  of  provisions  fall ; 
And  the  greater  number  of  buildings  being  untenanted, 
Such  as  require  it  are  repaired  and  adorned. 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  117 

The  spacious  streets  are  exceedingly  smooth  and  level, 

Each  being  crossed  by  others  at  intervals ; 

On  either  side  perambulate  men  and  women, 

In  the  centre  career  along  the  carriages  and  horses. 

The  mingled  sound  of  voices  is  heard  in  the  shops  at 
evening. 

During  midwinter,  the  hcapcd-up  snows  adhere  to  the  path- 
way. 

Lamps  are  displayed  at  night  along  the  street-sides. 

Whose  radiance  twinkles  like  the  stars  of  the  sk}'. 

The  climate  is  too  cold  for  the  cultivation  of  rice, 

But  they  have  for  ages  been  exempt  from  the  evils  of  famine. 

With  strong  tea  they  immingle  rich  cream; 

And  their  baked  wheaten  bread  is  involved  in  unctuous  lard. 

Here  excellent  meats  are  served  in  covers  of  silver, 

And  fine  wines  are  poured  into  gem-like  cu{>s; 

The  custom  of  the  country  pa\'s  respect  to  the  ceremony  of 
meals. 

Previous  to  the  repast,  they  make  a  change  in  their  vest- 
ments." 

In  works  of  fiction  Chinese  literature  abounds. 
Tliesc  arc,  for  the  most  part,  short  tales,  without  point 
or  moral,  and  might  seem  designed  rather  for  children 
than  adult  readers.  Among  this  class  of  publications 
we  may  notice  the  Tsze  Pun  Yu,  which  is  a  Chinese 
collection  of  tales,  romances,  fables,  &c.  It  contains 
no  less  than  seven  hundred  tales,  the  titles  of  some  of 
them  being.  Ghost  of  a  Fortune-Teller,  a  Stolen 
Thunderbolt,  the  Literary  Fo.\  advising  Men  to 
become  Fairies,  Elves  begging  Fish,  the  Man  with 
Three  Heads,  the  Devil  turned  Watchmaker  a  Pig 
acting  the  Priest  of  Taou,  the  Enchanted  Town,  the 
Ass   of  a  Mahometan  Lady,  a  Demon  bearing  ChiJ- 


•v 


118  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

dren,  Vulcan's  Toys,  &c.  The  following  are  trans- 
lations from  this  work,  made  by  a  youth  at  Canton,  who 
was  studying  the  Chinese  language  ;  they  will  afford  a 
specimen  of  a  Chinese  book  of"  small  talk." 

The  Sagacious  Pig-  —  "In  the  district  of  Suhchow,  in 
Keanguau,  a  man  was  murdered,  and  his  body  thrown  into 
a  well  One  of  the  officers,  having  long  sought  in  vain  for 
the  murderer,  was  riding  by  the  well  one  day,  when  a  pig 
came  before  his  horse,  and  set  up  a  most  bitter  cry.  His 
attendants  not  being  able  to  drive  the  pig  away,  the  officer 
said  to  them,  '  What  does  the  pig  want  ? '  whereupon  the 
pig  kneeled  before  him,  and  made  the  kow-toic.  The  officer 
then  bade  his  attendants  to  follow  the  pig,  which  immediately 
rose  up  and  led  them  to  a  house,  and,  entering  the  door, 
crawled  under  a  bed,  and  began  rooting  up  the  ground,  and 
continued  doing  so  until  he  had  uncovered  a  bloody  knife. 
The  attendants  immediately  seized  the  master  of  the  house, 
who,  on  examination,  proved  to  be  the  murderer. 

The  villagers,  having  deliberated  on  the  case,  took  the 
pig,  and  supported  him  in  one  of  the  temples  of  Buddha; 
visitors  came  frequently  to  see  him,  and  gave  money  for  his 
support,  saying,  '  Such  a  sagacious  pig  deserves  to  be  re- 
warded.' After  more  than  ten  years,  lie  died,  and  the  priests 
of  the  temple,  having  procured  for  him  a  coffin,  buried  him 
with  due  formality." 

The  Enchanted  Box.  —  "  On  the  banks  of  the  Lake  Kan- 
ning,  in  the  province  of  Yunnan,  some  husbandmen,  while 
digging  up  the  ground,  discovered  a  small  iron  box,  on  which 
characters  were  written  in  the  ancient  form,  used  in  the  time 
of  the  Han  dynasty.  The  husbandmen  did  not  understand 
this  writing,  but  the  characters  by  the  side  of  it  were  intel- 
ligible, and  were  as  follows  :  '  Given  by  a  fairy,  in  the  first 
year  of  Cheching.' 

The  husbandmen,  not  knowing  what  the  box  was,  broke 
it  open,  when  they  found  a  small  worm,  about  an  inch  in 
length,  and  apparently  dead.  The  boys,  collecting,  threw 
water  on  it.     The  worm  then  began  to  stretch  itself,  until  it 


cni:.ESr.    LlTEItAT'JKE,  119 

became  quite  long,  and  then  it  (hirted  into  tiie  air.  A  hurri- 
cane soon  came  on ;  the  rain  fell  in  torrents ;  the  heavens 
and  eartli  seemed  enveloped  in  black  clouds ;  in  the  midst 
of  which  appeared  a  horned  monster,  fighting  with  two  yel- 
low dragons.  Hail,  mingled  with  dew,  descended ;  and  the 
houses  and  the  property  of  all  the  husbandmen  were  de- 
stroyed !  " 

The  Black  Pillar.  —  "  Once,  in  the  district  Shaouhing,  there 
lived  a  man  whose  name  was  Yen,  who  was  married  into  tiie 
family  of  Wang,  and  was  taken  home  by  his  futher-in-law, 
who  had  no  son  of  his  own.  After  the  ceremony,  Yen  re- 
turned to  visit  his  family.  His  wife  having  been  suddenly 
taken  ill,  a  messenger  was  sent  by  Iii.s  father-in-law  to  inform 
him  of  it.  Yen  immediately  left  his  father's  house,  although 
it  was  the  middle  of  the  night. 

By  the  light  of  a  candle,  he  was  proceeding  along  the 
road,  when  a  black  cloud,  resembling  the  pillar  of  a  temple, 
descended  between  him  and  the  candle.  If  he  moved  the 
candle  to  the  east,  the  pillar  also  moved  to  the  cast;  if  he 
moved  the  candle  westward,  the  pillar  moved  with  it,  as  if 
trying  to  obstruct  the  way,  and  not  to  permit  him  to  proceed. 

Yen,  being  very  much  frightened,  entered  the  house  of 
a  friend,  and,  having  procured  a  servant,  and  another  candle, 
proceeded,  and  the  black  pillar  gradually  disappeared,  while 
he  hastened  to  his  wife's  house.  On  entering,  his  father-in- 
law  met  him,  and  said,  '  You  arrived  a  long  time  ago  ;  — 
where  have  you  come  from  now .' ' 

Yen  replied,  '  Most  certainly  1  iiave  not  been  in  before  !  ' 
Yen,  and  the  whole  family  fled  in  astonishment  to  his  wife's 
room,  where  tliey  found  a  man  seated  on  her  bed,  holding 
her  hand.  As  he  proceeded  to  his  wife's  side,  the  stranger 
disappeared,  and  his  lady  soon  expired." 

Fidelity  of  Cats.  —  "  In  IlcUngning  there  lived  a  lad  whose 
surname  was  Wang.  His  father  had  an  old  servant,  upwards 
of  seventy  years  old,  who,  being  extremely  fond  of  cats,  kept 
thirteen  in  her  house,  and  loved  and  cherished  them  like 
children.  Each  one  had  a  nickname,  and  came  immediately 
at  her  cal  .     In  tlir  rdgn  of  Kf^ijnlung.  this  old  woman  died. 


120  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

The  poor  cats  gathered  round  her  coffin,  crying  bitterly,  and 
refused  fish,  rice,  and  every  kind  of  food ;  and  afler  three 
days,  they  all  died  !  " 

The  drama,  as  might  he  expected,  constitutes  a  pop- 
ular form  of  Chinese  literature,  though  it  labors  under 
great  imperfections,  and  is  not  regularly  exhibited  on 
any  public  theatre.  Its  professors  are  merely  invited 
to  private  houses,  and  paid  for  each  performance. 
The  sovereign  himself  does  not  bestow  any  patronage 
on  the  art  beyond  hiring  the  best  actors,  when  he 
wishes  to  enjoy  their  wit  or  talents.  No  entertainment, 
however,  given  by  the  prince,  or  any  great  man,  is 
considered  complete  without  a  dramatic  exhibition ; 
and  every  spacious  dwelling,  and  even  the  principal 
inns,  have  a  large  hall  set  apart  for  the  purpose. 
Among  less  opulent  individuals,  a  subscription  is  occa- 
sionally made,  to  bear  in  common  the  expense  of  a 
play.  It  is  reckoned  that  several  hundred  companies 
find  employment  in  Pekin  ;  and  along  the  rivers  and 
great  canals,  numerous  strolling  parties  live  in  barges. 
A  troop  usually  consists  of  eight  or  ten  persons,  mostly 
slaves  of  the  manager,  who  accordingly  occupy  a  very 
mean  place  in  public  estimation.  To  purchase  a  free 
child  for  the  purpose  of  educating  him  as  an  actor,  is 
punished  by  a  hundred  strokes  of  the  bamboo ;  and 
no  free  female  is  allowed  to  marry  into  that  class.  To 
this  contempt  for  the  performers,  as  well  as  to  the 
low  standard  of  the  drama  among  the  Chinese,  who 
seem  to  view  it  merely  as  the  amusement  of  an  idle 
hour,  may  be  ascribed  the  depressed  state  in  which  it 
continues  to  exist.  The  dramatic  poet  has  liberty  and 
employment,   but  he    has   not    honor,   which    seems 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  121 

equally  necessary  for  the  production  of  any  thing 
great  in  the  arts.  Scenery  and  stage  cfiect,  which 
indeed  the  places  of  performance  would  render  very 
difficult  to  produce,  are  never  attempted.  A  theatre 
can  at  any  time  be  erected  in  two  hours  :  a  platform 
of  boards  is  elevated,  six  or  seven  feet  from  the  ground, 
on  posts  of  bamboo  ;  three  sides  are  hung  with  cur- 
tains of  cotton  cloth,  while  the  front  is  left  open  to  the 
audience. 

Under  these  humiliating  circumstances,  there  do  not 
seem  to  have  arisen  any  great  names,  to  which  the 
Chinese  people  can  refer  with  pride,  as  national  dram- 
atists. Numerous  pieces  have,  however,  been  pro- 
duced, particularly  under  the  dynasty  of  the  Tang. 
A  collection  has  been  formed  of  199  volumes,  from 
which  are  selected  a  hundred  plays,  supposed  to  com- 
prehend the  flower  of  this  class  of  productions.  Of 
these,  only  five  have  been  translated  —  namely,  two 
tragedies,  the  Orphan  of  Tchao,  by  Father  Premare, 
and  the  Sorrows  of  Han,  by  Mr.  Davis ;  and  three 
comedies,  the  Ileir  in  his  Old  Age,  by  the  latter 
gentleman,  the  Circle  of  Chalk,  by  1\I.  Stanislas- 
.lulien,  and  the  Intrigues  of  a  Waiting-Maid,  by  M. 
Bazin.  This  certainly  is  but  a  small  portion  of  so 
great  a  mass ;  yet,  as  it  consists  of  favorite  produc- 
tions chosen  by  judicious  translators,  the  Chinese 
drama  will  not,  probably,  have  cause  to  complain  of 
being  judged  according  to  such  specimens. 

On  perusing  even  the  best  of  these  compositions,  we 
at  once  discover  that  the  dialogue  is  nearly  as  rude  and 
inartificial  as  the  scenery.  Instead  of  allowing  char- 
acters and  events  to  be  dovolopod  in  the  progress  of 

XVII.— 11 


133  CHINESE    LITERATURE. 

*he  piece,  each  performer,  on  his  first  entry,  addresses 
the  audience,  and  informs  them  who  and  what  he  is, 
what  remarkable  deeds  he  has  performed,  and  what 
are  his  present  views  and  intentions.  On  these  occa- 
sions, he  speaks  completely  in  the  style  of  a  third  per- 
son, stating,  without  veil  or  palliation,  the  most  enor- 
mous crimes,  either  committed  or  contemplated.  The 
unities,  which  have  been  considered  so  essential  to  a 
classic  drama,  are  completely  trampled  under  foot ;  and 
even  the  license,  as  to  time  and  place,  to  which  Shak- 
spere  has  accustomed  a  British  audience,  is  far  ex- 
ceeded. The  Orphan  of  Tchao  is  born  in  the  first  act, 
and  before  the  end  of  the  drama  figures  as  a  grown 
man.  In  the  Circle  of  Chalk,  a  young  lady  m  one 
scene  receives  and  accepts  proposals  of  marriage  ;  in 
the  next,  she  appears  with  a  daughter  aged  five  years. 
The  tragedies  labor  under  a  much  more  serious  defect, 
in  the  absence  of  impassioned  and  poetic  dialogue. 
The  performer,  in  the  most  critical  and  trying  moments, 
makes  no  attempt  to  express  his  sorrows  in  correspond- 
ing language.  Action  aione  is  employed,  which  af- 
fords a  genuine,  indeed,  though  not  very  dramatic  indi- 
cation of  the  depth  of  his  feelings.  The  hero,  in  the 
most  tragic  scenes,  strangles  himself,  or  stabs  his 
enemy,  with  the  same  coolness  as  if  he  had  been  sittnig 
down  to  table. 

In  concluding  our  view  of  Chinese  literature,  we  feel 
constrained  to  remark  that  it  is  chiefly  valuable  as 
throwing  light  upon  the  character  of  the  most  populous 
nation  on  the  globe,  and  not  on  account  of  any  im- 
portant materials  which  it  can  directly  contribute  to  our 


CHINESE    LITERATURE.  "  123 

Stores  of  thought.  There  is  scarcely  a  fact  in  science, 
a  passage  in  philosophy,  an  illustration  in  poetry,  or  plot 
in  a  play,  to  be  found  in  the  whole  circle  of  Chinese 
Dooks,  which,  if  rendered  into  English,  would  serve  to 
oenefit  our  own  literature.  We  cannot  but  feel,  in  spite 
of  the  great  antiquity  of  the  nation,  notwithstanding  the 
practical  wisdom  displayed  in  government,  and  the  in- 
genuity evinced  in  the  arts,  that,  in  all  the  higher  qual- 
ities of  the  intellect,  the  Chinese  are  an  inferior  people. 


LITERATURE   OF  THE  ARABIANS. 


At  the  overthrow  of  the  Roman  empire,  the  people 
of  Europe  sank  into  barbarism.  Civil  wars  and  feudal 
tyranny  desolated  the  land.  With  difficulty  did  the  in- 
habitants preserve  their  lives,  ever  menaced  by  famine 
or  the  sword  ;  and  in  this  perpetual  state  of  violence  and 
fear,  they  had  little  leisure  for  intellectual  enjoyments. 
It  was  impossible  that  eloquence  could  exist  deprived 
of  its  proper  objects.  Poetry  was  unknown,  and  phi- 
losophy was  proscribed  as  a  rebellion  against  religion. 
But  at  this  very  period,  a  new  nation,  which,  by  its  con- 
quests and  its  fanaticism,  had  contributed  more  than 
any  other  to  extirpate  science  and  literature,  having  at 
length  established  its  empire,  in  its  turn  devoted  itself 
to  letters. 

Masters  of  a  great  portion  of  the  East,  of  the  coun- 
try of  the  Magi  and  the  Chaldeans,  whence  the  first 
light  of  knowledge  had  shone  over  the  world, —  of  the 
fertile  Egypt,  the  storehouse  of  human  science,  —  of 
Asia  Minor,  that  smiling  land  where  poetry,  and  taste, 
and  the  fine  arts,  had  their  birth,  —  and  of  the  burning 
plains  of  Africa,  the  country  of  impetuous  eloquence 
and  subtile  intellect,  —  the  Arabians  seemed  to  unite 
in  themselves  the  advantages  of  all  the  nations  which 
they  had  thus  subjugated.     Their  success  in  arms  had 


UTERATUnE    OF    THE    ARABIANS.  125 

been  sufficient  to  satiate  even  tlic  most  unmeasured 
ambition.  The  East,  and  Africa,  from  their  respective 
extremities,  had  yielded  to  the  empire  of  the  caliplis. 
Innumerable  treasures  had  been  the  fruit  of  their  con- 
quests ;  and  the  Arabians,  before  that  time  a  rude  and 
uncultivated  nation,  now  began  to  indulge  in  the  most 
unbounded  luxury.  With  the  conquest  of  those  happy 
countries  over  which  pleasure  had  so  long  held  sway, 
the  spirit  of  voluptuousness  was  naturally  introduced 
among  them.  With  all  the  delights  whicli  human  in- 
dustry, quickened  by  boundless  riches,  can  procure, — 
with  all  that  can  flatter  the  senses,  and  attach  the  heart 
to  life,  —  the  Arabians  attempted  to  mingle  the  pleasures 
of  the  intellect,  the  cultivation  of  the  arts  and  sciences, 
and  all  that  is  most  excellent  in  human  knowledge,  — 
the  gratifications  of  the  mind  and  the  imagination.  In 
this  new  career,  their  conquests  were  not  less  rapid 
than  they  had  been  in  the  field,  nor  was  their  empire 
less  extended.  With  a  celerity  equally  surprising,  it 
rose  to  as  gigantic  a  height ;  but  it  rested  on  a  founda- 
tion no  less  insecure,  and  was  quite  as  transitory  in  its 
duration. 

The  flight  of  Mahomet  from  Mecca  to  Medina, 
which  is  styled  the  Hegira,  corresponds  with  the  year 
622  of  the  Christian  era,  and  the  pretended  burning 
of  the  Alexandrian  library  with  the  year  611.  This  is 
the  period  of  the  deepest  barbarism  of  the  Saracens ; 
and  this  event,  doubtful  as  it  is,  has  left  a  melancholy 
proof  of  their  contempt  for  letters.  But  a  century  had 
scarcely  elapsed  from  the  period  to  which  this  barbarian 
outrage  is  referred,  when  the  family  of  the  Abassides, 
who  mounted  the  throne  of  the  caliphs  in  750,  intro- 
11* 


126  LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIAI^S. 

duced  a  passionate  love  of  art,  of  science,  and  of 
poetry.  In  the  literature  of  Greece,  eight  centuries  of 
progressive  cultivation  succeeding  the  Trojan  war,  had 
prepared  the  way  for  the  age  of  Pericles.  In  that  of 
Rome,  the  age  of  Augustus  was  also  in  the  eighth  cen- 
tury after  the  foundation  of  the  city.  But  in  the  rapid 
progress  of  the  Arabian  empire,  the  age  of  Al  Ma- 
moun,  the  father  of  letters  and  the  Augustus  of  Bag- 
dad, was  not  removed  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  from  the  foundation  of  the  monarchy. 

Ali,  the  fourth  caliph  from  Mahomet,  was  the 
first  who  extended  any  protection  to  letters.  His  suc- 
cessor, Moawyah,  the  first  of  the  Ommiades,  was  still 
more  favorably  disposed  towards  them.  He  assembled 
at  his  court  all  who  were  distinguished  by  scientific 
acquirements  ;  he  surrounded  himself  with  poets  ;  and 
as  he  had  subjected  to  his  dominion  many  of  the  Greek 
isles  and  provinces,  the  sciences  of  Greece  first  began, 
under  him,  to  obtain  an  influence  over  the  Arabians. 
After  the  extinction  of  the  dynasty  of  the  Ommiades, 
that  of  the  Abassides  bestowed  a  still  more  powerful 
patronage  on  letters.  Al  Manzor,  the  second  of  these 
princes,  invited  to  his  court  a  Greek  physician,  who  was 
the  first  to  present  to  the  Arabians  translations  of  the 
medical  works  of  the  Greeks.  At  Gondisapor,  in 
Pei-sia,  the  persecuted  Christians  from  the  Greek 
empire  founded  a  school  of  medicine,  from  whence 
issued  a  crowd  of  learned  Nestorians  and  Jews,  who, 
obtaining  reputation  by  their  medical  knowledge, 
transported  to  the  East  all  the  rich  inheritance  of 
Grecian  literature. 

The   celebrated  Haroun  Al  Raschid,  who  reigned 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS.  127 

from  786  to  809,  acquired  a  glorious  name  by  the  pro- 
tection which  he  aflbrded  to  letters.  The  historian 
Elmacin  assures  us  tliat  he  never  undertook  a  journey 
without  at  least  a  hundred  men  of  science  in  his  train. 
The  Arabians  are  indebted  to  him  for  the  rapid  progress 
which  they  made  in  science  and  literature,  for  he  never 
built  a  mosque  without  attaching  to  it  a  school.  His 
successor  followed  his  example ;  and,  in  a  short  period, 
the  sciences  which  were  cultivated  in  the  capital 
spread  themselves  to  the  very  extremities  of  the  empire 
of  the  caliphs. 

But  the  true  protector  and  father  of  Arabic  literature 
was  Al  Mamoun,  the  seventh  caliph  of  the  race  of  the 
Abassides,  and  the  son  of  Haroun  Al  Raschid.  Even 
in  his  father's  lifetime,  and  during  his  journey  to 
Khorasan,  he  had  chosen  for  his  companions  the  most 
celebrated  men  of  science  among  the  Greeks,  the  Per- 
sians, and  the  Chaldeans.  Having  succeeded  to  the 
throne  in  813,  he  rendered  Bagdad  the  centre  of  liter- 
ature. Study,  books,  and  men  of  letters,  almost  en- 
tirely engrossed  his  attention.  The  learned  were  his 
favorites,  and  his  ministers  were  occupied  alone  in 
forwarding  the  progress  of  literature.  It  might  be  said 
that  the  throne  of  the  caliphs  seemed  to  have  been 
raised  for  the  Muses.  He  invited  to  his  court,  from 
every  part  of  the  world,  all  the  learned  with  whose 
existence  he  was  acquainted  ;  and  he  retained  them  by 
rewards,  honors,  and  distinctions,  of  every  kind.  He 
collected  from  the  subject  provinces  of  Syria,  Armenia, 
and  Egypt,  the  most  important  books  which  could  be 
discovered,  and  which  in  his  eyes  were  the  most  pre- 
cious  tribute  he  could  demand.      The  governors  of 


138  LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS. 

provinces,  and  ihc  officers  of  administration,  were  di- 
rected to  amass,  in  preference  to  every  thing  else,  the 
literary  relics  of  the  conquered  countries,  and  to  carry 
them  to  the  foot  of  the  throne.  Hundreds  of  camels 
might  be  seen  entering  Bagdad,  loaded  with  nothing  but 
manuscripts  and  papers  ;  and  those  which  were  thought 
to  be  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  public  instruction  were 
translated  into  Arabic,  that  they  might  be  universally 
intelligible.  Masters,  instructors,  translators,  and  com- 
mentators, formed  the  court  of  Al  Mamoun,  which 
appeared  rather  to  be  a  learned  academy  than  the 
centre  of  government  in  a  warlike  empire. 

The  progress  of  the  nation  in  science  was  propor- 
tioned to  the  zeal  of  the  sovereign.  In  all  parts, 
schools,  academics,  and  colleges,  were  established, 
from  all  of  which  many  learned  men  proceeded. 
Bagdad  was  the  capital  of  letters  as  well  as  of  the 
caliphs ;  but  Bassora  and  Cufa  almost  equalled  that 
city  in  reputation,  and  in  the  number  of  valuable  trea- 
tises and  celebrated  poems  which  they  produced. 
The  same  enthusiasm  had  been  carried  by  the  Ara- 
bians beyond  the  frontiers  of  Asia.  Benjamin  of  Tu- 
dela,  the  Jew,  relates,  in  his  Itinerary,  that  he  found  in 
Alexandria  more  than  twenty  schools  for  the  propaga- 
tion of  philosophy.  Cairo  also  contained  a  great  num- 
ber of  colleges.  In  the  cities  of  Fez  and  Morocco, 
likewise,  the  most  magnificent  buildings  were  appro- 
priated to  the  purposes  of  instruction,  and  these  estab- 
lishments were  guided  by  the  wisest  and  most  benefi- 
cent regulations.  The  rich  libraries  of  Fez  and  La- 
rache  preserved  to  Europe  a  number  of  precious  vol- 
umes which  had  been  lost  elsewhere. 


LlTtKATUKK  OF  THE  ARABIANS.         129 

But  Spain  was  more  especially  tlie  seat  of  Arabian 
learning  :  it  was  tiierc  tliai  it  shone  with  superior 
brightness,  and  made  its  most  ra{)id  progress.  Cor 
dova,  Granada,  Seville,  and  almost  all  the  cities  of  the 
peninsula,  rivalled  one  another  in  the  magnificence  of 
their  schools,  colleges,  academies,  and  libraries.  In 
various  cities  of  Spain,  seventy  libraries  were  open  for 
the  instruction  of  the  public,  at  the  period  when  all  the 
rest  of  Europe  —  without  books,  without  learning,  and 
without  cultivation  —  was  plunged  in  the  most  disgrace- 
ful ignorance.  Thus,  throughout  the  vast  extent  of 
the  Arabian  empire  in  the  three  quarters  of  the  globe, 
the  progress  of  letters  had  followed  that  of  arms ;  and 
literature,  for  five  or  six  centuries,  from  the  ninth  to  the 
fourteenth  or  fifteenth,  preserved  all  its  brilliancy. 

The  Arabic  language  belongs  to  that  ancient  class 
which  includes  the  Hebrew.  It  has  outlived  its  sister 
tongues,  and  has  spread  all  over  Syria,  Egypt,  and 
Northern  Africa,  besides  existing  as  the  language  of 
religion  throughout  Persia,  the  Turkish  empire,  and  all 
countries  into  which  the  Mahometan  faith  has  been  in- 
troduced. It  is  rich  not  only  in  words,  such  especially 
as  refer  to  natural  objects  and  the  life  of  a  nomadic 
people,  but  also  in  grammatical  inflections,  particularly 
in  the  verb.  Its  purity  and  copiousness  were  long  an 
object  of  national  pride  to  the  Arabians.  The  modern 
vernacular  Arabic  does  not  materially  differ  from  the 
classical  language  of  the  Koran ;  but  in  the  gram- 
matical forms,  time  seems  to  have  produced  a  change 
similar  to  what  we  perceive  in  other  languages. 

One  of  the  first  objects  of  the  Arabians,  at  the  res- 
toration of  letters,  would  naturally  be  to  carry   to  per« 
I 


130  LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS. 

fection  the  vehicle  of  thought  and  imagination  ;  and,  in 
fact,  the  cuhivation  of  their  language  had  been  among 
the  most  important  labors  of  the  learned.  They  were 
divided  into  two  rival  schools,  that  of  Cufa  and  that 
of  Bassora  ;  from  both  of  which  a  number  of  distin- 
guished men  proceeded,  who  have  analyzed  with  the 
greatest  acuteness  the  rules  of  the  Arabic  language. 
The  study  of  rhetoric  was  united  with  that  of  grammar, 
and,  as  it  always  happens  in  the  literature  of  every 
country,  the  precepts  of  elegant  composition  succeeded 
the  models.  The  Koran  was  not  written  in  pursuance 
of  the  rules  of  rhetoricians.  A  confusion  of  ideas,  pro- 
duced by  too  elevated  an  enthusiasm,  and  an  obscurity 
and  contradiction,  which  were  the  consequences  of  the 
turbulent  life  and  diversified  designs  of  the  author, 
destroyed  the  unity,  and  impaired  the  interest,  of  that 
work.  Notwithstanding  this,  there  is  scarcely  a  volume 
in  the  Arabic  language,  if  we  may  believe  some  critics, 
which  contains  passages  breathing  a  more  sublime 
poetry  or  a  more  enchaining  eloquence.  In  like  man- 
ner, the  first  harangues  which  were  addressed  to  the 
people  and  the  armies,  to  inspire  them  with  the  new 
faith,  and  with  a  zeal  for  combat,  undoubtedly  pos- 
sessed more  true  efoquence  than  all  that  were  after- 
wards composed  in  the  schools  of  the  most  famous 
Arabic  rhetoricians. 

After  the  age  of  Mahomet  and  his  immediate  suc- 
cessors, popular  eloquence  was  no  longer  cultivated 
among  the  Arabians.  Eastern  despotism  having  sup- 
planted the  liberty  of  the  desert,  the  heads  of  the  state 
and  the  army  regarded  it  as  beneath  them  to  harangue 
the    people    or   the    soldiers.     They  no  longer  relied 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS.  131 

upon  their  counsel  or  their  zeal ;  they  only  called  upon 
them  for  obedience.  But  if  political  eloquence  was 
of  no  long  duration  among  the  Arabians,  they  were  the 
inventors  of  that  species  of  rhetoric  which  is  the  most 
cultivated  at  the  present  day.  They  exercised  them- 
selves alternately  in  the  eloquence  of  the  academy  and 
the  pulpit.  Their  philosophers,  so  enthusiastic  in  the 
belief  of  the  beauty  of  their  language,  took  the  op- 
portunity of  displaying,  in  these  learned  assemblies,  all 
the  measured  harmony  of  which  it  is  susceptible. 
They  had  their  Demosthenes,  their  Cicero,  and  their 
sacred  orators.  Many  of  the  Arabic  sermons  are  pre- 
served in  the  Escurial,  and  their  style  is  very  similar  to 
that  of  the  Christian  preachers. 

Poetiy,  still  more  than  eloquence,  was  the  favorite 
study  of  the  Arabians,  from  their  origin  as  a  nation. 
It  is  said  that  this  people,  alone,  has  produced  more 
poets  than  all  others  united.  Arabic  poetry  took  its 
rise  even  before  the  art  of  writing  had  become  general ; 
and  from  remote  antiquity,  a  number  of  poets  had  an- 
nually celebrated  their  academical  games  in  the  city 
of  Okadh.  These  festivals  were  suppressed  by  Ma- 
homet as  a  relic  of  idolatry.  Seven  of  the  most  fa- 
mous of  these  ancient  poets  have  been  celebrated  by 
the  Oriental  writers  under  the  title  of  the  Arabian 
Pleiades ;  and  their  works  were  suspended  around  the 
Caaba,  or  Temple  of  Mecca.  Mahomet  himself  cul- 
tivated poetiy,  as  well  as  Ali,  Amrou,  and  some  others 
of  the  most  distinguished  of  his  first  companions  ;  but 
after  him,  the  Arabian  Muses  seem  to  have  been  silent 
till  the  reign  of  tiic  Abassides.  It  was  under  Ilaroun 
Al  Raschid,  and  his  successor,  Al  Mamoun,  —  and  more 


132        LITERATURE  OF  THE  ARABIANS. 

especially  under  the  Ommiadcs  of  Spain,  —  that  Arabic 
poetry  arrived  at  its  highest  pilch  of  splendor.  It  is  at 
this  period  that  wc  find  that  company  of  poets,  chival- 
rous lovers,  and  royal  princesses,  whom  the  Oriental 
writers  compare  to  Anacrcon,  Pindar,  and  Sappho. 

The  poetry  of  the  Arabians  is  entirely  lyric  or  di- 
dactic. They  have  been  very  prolific  in  their  amatory 
effusions  ;  their  elegies  on  the  deaths  of  their  heroes  or 
of  their  beauties ;  their  moral  verses,  among  which 
their  fables  may  be  reckoned  ;  their  eulogistic,  satirical, 
descriptive,  and,  above  all,  their  didactic  poems,  wliich 
embrace  even  the  most  abstruse  sciences,  as  grammar, 
rhetoric,  and  arithmetic.  But  among  all  their  poems, 
the  catalogue  of  which,  in  the  Escurial  alone,  consists 
of  twenty-four  volumes,  there  is  not  a  single  epic,  com- 
edy, or  tragedy. 

In  the  branches  of  poetry  which  they  cultivated,  the 
Arabians  displayed  a  surprising  subtilty,  and  great 
refinement  of  thought.  Their  style  of  expression  is 
graceful  and  elegant ;  their  sentiments  are  noble  ;  and,^ 
if  we  may  credit  the  Oriental  scholars,  there  prevails, 
in  the  original  language,  a  harmony  in  the  verses,  a 
propriety  in  the  expression,  and  a  grace  throughout, 
which  are  necessarily  lost  in  a  translation.  But  it 
cannot  escape  us  that  the  fame  of  their  lyric  composi- 
tions rests,  in  some  degree,  on  their  bold  metaphors, 
their  extravagant  allegories,  and  their  excessive  hyper- 
boles. It  may  justly  be  asserted  that  the  great  charac- 
teristic of  Oriental  taste  is  an  abuse  of  the  imagina- 
tion. The  Arabs  despised  the  poetry  of  the  Greeks, 
which  to  them  appeared  timid,  cold,  and  constrained; 
and,  amongst  all  the  books  which,  with  almost  a  super 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS.  133 

stitious  veneration,  they  borrowed  from  that  people, 
there  is  scarcely  a  single  poem.  None  of  those  relics 
of  classical  genius  were  adjudged  worthy  of  a  transla- 
tion ;  and  neither  Homer,  nor  Sophocles,  nor  even 
Pindar,  was  allowed  to  enter  into  a  comparison  with 
their  own  poets.  The  object  cf  the  Arabians  was 
always  to  make  a  brilliant  use  of  the  boldest  and  most 
gigantic  images.  They  sought  to  astonish  the  reader 
by  the  abruptness  of  their  expressions ;  and  they  bur- 
dened their  com])osition  with  riches,  under  the  idea 
that  nothing  which  was  beautiful  could  be  superfluous. 
They  were  not  satisfied  with  one  comparison,  but 
heaped  images  one  upon  another — not  to  assist  the 
reader  in  catching  their  ideas,  but  to  excite  his  admira- 
tion of  their  coloring.  They  neglected  natural  senti- 
ment, and  made  an  exhibition  of  art ;  and  the  more 
the  ornaments  of  art  were  multiplied,  the  more  admi- 
rable, in  their  eye,  did  their  work  appear.  On  this 
account,  they  were  perpetually  seeking  for  difficulties 
to  vanquish,  though  these  added  neither  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  idea  nor  to  the  harmony  of  the  verse. 

The  Arabic  poetry  is  rhymed  like  our  own,  and  the 
rhyming  is  often  carried  still  farther  in  the  construction 
of  the  verse,  while  the  uniformity  of  the  sound  is  fre- 
quently echoed  throughout  the  whole  expression.  Their 
lyrical  poetry  is  moreover  subjected  to  particular  rules, 
either  in  the  form  of  the  strophe,  or  in  the  order  of 
the  rhymes,  or  in  the  length  of  the  poems. 

But  if  the  Arabs  had  not  the  epic  nor  the  drama, 
they  have  been,  on  the  other  hand,  the  inventors  of  a 
style  of  composition  which  is  related  to  the  epic,  and 

xvir. — 12 


134  LITERATUKE    OF    THE    AUABIANS. 

which  supplies,  in  the  East,  the  place  of  the  drama. 
We  owe  to  them  those  tales,  of  which  the  conception 
is  so  brilliant,  and  the  imagination  so  rich  and  varied - 
tales  which  have  been  the  delight  of  our  infancy,  and 
which,  at  a  more  advanced  age,  we  never  read  without 
feeling  their  enchantment  anew.  Every  one  is  ac- 
quainted with  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments  ;  but 
we  do  not  possess,  in  English,  more  than  a  fragment 
of  the  whole  work.  This  prodigious  collection  is  not 
confined  merely  to  books,  but  forms  the  treasure  of  a 
numerous  class  of  men  and  women,  who,  throughout 
the  whole  e.xtent  of  the  Mahometan  dominion  in 
Turkey,  Persia,  and  even  to  the  extremity  of  India, 
find  a  livelihood  in  reciting  these  tales  to  crowds,  who 
delight  to  forget,  in  the  pleasing  dreams  of  imagination, 
the  melancholy  feelings  of  the  present  moment.  In 
the  coffee-houses  of  the  Levant,  one  of  these  men  will 
gather  a  silent  crowd  around  him.  Sometimes  he  will 
excite  terror  or  pity ;  but  he  more  frequently  pictures 
to  his  audience  those  brilliant  and  fantastic  visions 
which  are  the  patrimony  of  Eastern  imaginations. 
He  will  even  occasionally  provoke  laughter  ;  and  the 
severe  brows  of  the  fierce  IMussulmans  will  unbend 
only  on  an  occasion  like  this.  Story -telling  is  the 
only  exhibition  of  the  kind  in  all  the  Levant,  where 
these  recitations  supply  the  place  of  our  dramatic  rep- 
resentations. The  public  squares  abound  with  story- 
tellers, who  fill  up  the  heavy  hours  of  the  Mahom- 
etan idler.  The  physicians  frequently  recommend 
them  to  their  patients,  in  order  to  soothe  pain,  to  calm 
agitation,  or  to  produce  sleep  after  long  watchfulness  ; 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS.  135 

and  these  skilful  narrators,  accustomed  to  sickness, 
modulate  tlieir  voices,  soften  their  tones,  and  gently  sus- 
pend them,  as  sleep  steals  over  the  sufferer. 

The  imagination  of  the  Arabs,  which  shines  in  all 
its  brilliancy  in  these  tales,  is  readily  distinguished  from 
the  imagination  of  the  chivalric  nations,  though  it  is 
easy  to  perceive  a  certain  resemblance  between  them. 
The  supernatural  world  is  the  same  in  both,  but  the 
moral  world  is  different.  The  Arabian  tales,  like  the 
romances  of  chivalry,  convey  us  into  the  fairy  realms, 
but  the  human  personages  which  they  introduce  are 
very  dissimilar.  These  tales  had  their  birth  after  the 
Arabians,  yielding  the  empire  of  the  sword  to  the  Tar- 
tars, the  Turks,  and  the  Persians,  had  devoted  them- 
selves to  commerce,  literature,  and  the  arts.  We  rec- 
ognize in  them  the  style  of  a  mercantile  people,  as  we 
do  that  of  a  warlike  nation  in  the  romances  of  chiv- 
alry. Riches  and  artificial  luxuries  dispute  the  palm 
with  the  splendid  gifts  of  the  fairies.  The  heroes  un- 
ceasingly traverse  distant  realms,  and  the  interests  of 
merchandise  excite  their  active  curiosity,  as  much  as 
the  love  of  renown  awakened  the  spirit  of  the  ancient 
knights.  Beside  the  female  characters,  we  find  in  these 
tales  only  four  distinct  classes  of  pei-sons  —  princes, 
merchants,  monks  or  calenders,  and  slaves.  Soldiers 
are  scarcely  ever  introduced.  Valor  and  military 
achievements,  in  these  tales,  as  in  the  records  of  the 
East,  inspire  terror,  and  produce  the  most  desolating 
effects,  but  excite  no  enthusiasm.  There  is,  on  this 
account,  in  the  Arabian  talcs,  something  less  noble  and 
heroic  than  we  usually  expect  in  compositions  of  this 


136  LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS. 

nature.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  consider  that 
these  story-tellers  are  our  masters  in  the  art  of  pro- 
ducing, sustaining,  and  unceasingly  varying,  the  in- 
terest of  this  kind  of  fiction ;  that  they  are  the  creators 
of  that  brilliant  mythology  of  fairies  and  genii,  which 
extends  the  bounds  of  the  world,  multiplies  the  riches 
and  the  strength  of  human  nature,  and  which,  without 
striking  us  with  terror,  carries  us  into  the  realms  of 
marvels  and  prodigies.  It  is  from  them  that  we  have 
derived  that  intoxication  of  love,  that  tenderness  and 
delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  that  reverential  awe  of 
women, —  by  turns  slaves  and  divinities,  —  which  have 
operated  so  powerfully  on  our  chivalrous  feeling. 

Every  branch  of  histoiy  was  cultivated  with  live- 
ly interest  by  the  Arabians.  Each  author,  among 
whom  the  most  celebrated  was  Abulfeda,  prince  of 
Itamah,  wrote  a  universal  history,  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world  down  to  his  own  time.  Every  state, 
every  province,  and  every  city,  possessed  its  indi- 
vidual character  and  historian.  Many,  in  imitation  of 
Plutarch,  composed  the  lives  of  great  men.  There 
was,  indeed,  among  Arabians,  such  a  passion  for  every 
species  of  literary  composition,  and  such  a  desire  to 
leave  no  subject  untouched,  that  Ben-Zaid,  of  Cordova, 
and  Abul-Monder,  of  Valencia,  wrote  a  grave  history 
of  celebrated  horses,  as  did  Alasueco  of  camels  which 
had  risen  to  distinction.  Historical  dictionaries  were 
invented  by  the  Arabians ;  and  they  possessed  geo- 
graphical dictionaries  of  great  accuracy  ;  and  others 
on  critical  and  bibliographical  subjects.  Each  art  and 
science  had  a  history,  of  which  the  Arabians  possessed 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  ARABIANS.        137 

a  more  complete  collection  than  any  other  nation,  an- 
cient or  modern. 

Philosophy  was  passionately  cultivated  by  the  Ara- 
bians, and  upon  this  was  founded  the  fame  of  many 
ingenious  men,  whose  names  are  still  revered  in 
Europe.  Averroes,  of  Cordova,  was  the  great  com- 
mentator of  Aristotle,  and  died  in  1198.  Avicenna, 
who  died  in  1037,  was  a  profound  philosopher,  as  well 
as  celebrated  physician.  Al-Farabi,  of  Transo.xiana, 
died  in  950.  He  spoke  seventy  languages,  wrote 
upon  all  the  sciences,  and  collected  them  into  an  en- 
cyclopedia. The  learned  Arabians  did  not  confine 
themselves  to  the  studies  which  they  could  only  pros- 
ecute in  their  closets.  They  undertook,  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  science,  the  most  perilous  and  painful 
journeys  ;  they  became  the  counsellors  of  princes,  and 
they  were  often  involved  in  the  revolutions  which  in 
the  East  are  so  violent,  and  generally  so  cruel.  Their 
private  life  was  thus  more  varied,  more  checkered 
with  accidents,  and  more  romantic,  than  that  of  the 
learned  of  any  other  nation. 

So  little  attention  has  been  paid  to  Arabic  literature 
in  Europe,  except  by  philologists,  that  it  is  difficult  to 
collect  any  good  specimens  of  their  poetry  in  an  Eng- 
lish translation.  The  following  eclogue  is  from  the 
pen  of  Sir  William  Jones,  who  informs  us  that  he  doeu 
not  claim  for  it  the  character  of  a  regular  translation, 
but  that  it  is  made  up  from  detached  passages  of  dif- 
ferent works.  It  will,  however,  afford  the  reader  a  fair 
specimen  of  the  figures,  sentiments,  and  descriptions, 
which  are  characteristic  of  Arabic  poetry. 

12* 


9  LITERATURE  OF  THE  ARABIANS. 

Solima.    An  Eclogue. 

"  Ye  maids  of  Aden,  hear  a  loftier  tale 
Than  e'er  was  sung  in  meadow,  bower,  or  dale. 
The  smiles  of  Abdala,  and  Mena's  ej-es, 
Where  beauty  plays,  and  love  in  slumber  lies  ; 
The  fragrant  hyacinths  of  Azza's  hair, 
That  wanton  with  the  laughing  summer  air  ; 
Love-tinctured  cheeks,  whence  roses  seek  their  bloomy 
And  lips  from  which  the  zephyr  steals  perfume, — 
Invite  no  more  the  wild,  unpolished  lay. 
But  fly  like  dreams  before  the  morning  ray. 
Then  farewell,  love  !   and  farewell,  youthful  fires  ! 
A  nobler  warmth  my  kindred  breast  inspires. 
Far  bolder  notes  the  listening  woods  shall  fill ; 
Flow  smooth,  ye  rivulets,  and  ye  gales,  be  still. 

See  yon  fair  groves,  that  o'er  Amara  rise, 
And  with  their  spicy  breath  embalm  the  skies ; 
Where  every  breeze  sheds  incense  o'er  the  valea, 
And  every  shrub  the  scent  of  musk  exhales. 
See,  through  yon  opening  glade,  a  glittering  scene, 
Lawns  ever  gay,  and  meadows  ever  green. 
Then  ask  the  groves,  and  ask  the  vocal  bowers, 
Who  decked  their  spicy  tops  with  blooming  flowers, 
Taught  the  blue  stream  o'er  sandy  vales  to  flow. 
And  the  brown  wild  with  liveliest  hue  to  glow. 
'  Fair  Solima  !  '  the  hills  and  dales  will  sing; 
'  Fair  Solima  ! '  the  distant  echoes  ring. 
But  not  with  idle  shows  of  vain  delight, 
To  charm  the  soul,  or  to  beguile  the  sight, 
At  noon  on  banks  of  pleasure  to  repose, 
Where  bloom,  entwined,  the  lily,  pink,  and  rose ; 
Not  in  proud  piles  to  heap  the  nightly  feast. 
Till  morn  with  pearls  has  decked  the  glowing  east ;  — 
Ah  !  not  for  this  she  taught  those  bowers  to  rise. 
And  bade  all  Eden  spring  before  our  eyes  : 
Far  other  thoughts  her  heavenly  mind  employ  — 
Hence,  empty  pride  !  and  hence,  delusive  joy  !  — 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    ARABIANS.  139 

To  cheer  with  sweet  repast  the  fainting  guest, 
To  lull  the  weary  on  the  couch  of  rest,  — 
These  are  her  cares,  and  this  her  glorious  task  : 
Can  Heaven  a  noble/  give,  or  mortals  ask  ? 

When,  chilled  with  fear,  the  trembling  pilgrim  roveii 
Through  pathless  deserts  and  through  tangled  groves. 
Where  mantling  Darkness  spreads  her  dragon  wing. 
And  birds  of  death  their  fatal  dirges  sing, 
While  vapors  pale  a  dreadful  glimmering  cast. 
And  thrilling  horror  howls  in  every  blast, — 
She  cheers  his  gloom  with  streams  of  bursting  light ; 
By  day  a  sun,  a  beaming  moon  by  night, 
Darts  througii  the  quivering  shades  a  heavenly  ray, 
And  spreads  with  flowers  his  solitary  way. 

Ye  heavens,  for  this,  in  showers  of  sweetness,  shed 
Your  mildest  influence  o'er  her  favored  head  ! 
Long  may  her  name,  which  distant  climes  shall  praise. 
Live  in  our  notes,  and  blossom  in  our  lays. 
And  like  an  odorous  plant,  whose  blushing  flower 
Paints  every  dale,  and  sweetens  every  bower. 
Borne  to  the  skies  in  clouds  of  soft  perfume. 
Forever  flourish,  and  forever  bloom. 
These  grateful  songs,  ye  maids  and  youths  renew. 
While  fresh-blown  violets  drink  the  pearly  dew, 
O'er  Azil's  banks  while  love-lorn  damsels  rove. 
And  gales  of  fragrance  breathe  from  Hagar's  grove. 

So  sang  the  youth,  wiiose  sweetly-warbled  strain 
Fair  Mcna  heard,  and  Saba's  spicy  plain. 
Soothed  with  liis  lay,  the  ravished  air  was  calm. 
The  winds  scarce  whispered  o'er  the  waving  palm. 
The  camels  bounded  o'er  the  flowery  lawn, 
Like  the  swift  ostrich  or  the  sportful  fawn. 
Their  silken  bands  the  listening  rosebuds  rent, 
And  twined  tlieir  blossoms  round  his  vocal  tent. 
He  sang  till  on  the  bank  the  moonlight  slept, 
And  closing  flowers  beneath  the  night-dew  wept, 
Then  ceased,  and  slumbered  in  the  lap  of  rest, 
Till  the  shrill  lark  Iiad  left  his  low-built  nest." 


140  LITERATURE    OF    TUE    ARABIANS. 

We  shall  next  ofTer  the  reader  a  literal  version  of  a 
portion  of  the  poem  of  Tarafa,  one  of  the  seven  compo- 
sitions which  were  suspended  on«the  Temple  of  Mecca. 

"  '  The  mansion  of  Khaula  is  desolate  ;  and  the  traces  of  it 
on  the  stony  hills  of  Tahmed  faintly  shine,  like  the  remains 
nf  blue  figures  painted  on  the  back  of  the  hand.' 

While  I  spoke  thus  to  myself,  my  companions  stopped 
their  coursers  by  my  side,  and  said,  '  Perish  not  through 
despair,  but  act  with  fortitude.' 

'  Ah  !  '  said  I,  '  the  vehicles  which  bore  away  my  fair  one, 
on  the  morning  when  the  tribe  of  Malec  departed,  and  their 
'.amels  were  traversing  the  banks  of  the  Deda,  resembled 
large  ships  sailing  from  Aduli ;  or  vessels  of  Ibn  Tamin, 
which  the  mariner  steers  to  the  right  and  left. 

Ships  which  cleave  the  foaming  waves  with  their  prows, 
as  a  boy  at  play  divides  with  his  hand  the  collected  earth. 

In  that  tribe  was  a  lovely  antelope,  with  black  eyes,  dark 
ruddy  lips,  and  a  beautiful  neck,  gracefully  raised  to  crop  the 
fresh  leaves  of  Erac,  —  a  neck  adorned  with  two  strings  of 
pearls  and  topazes. 

She  strays  from  her  young,  and  feeds  with  the  herds  of 
roes  in  the  tangled  thicket,  where  she  browzes  the  edges  of 
the  wild  fruit,  and  covers  herself  with  a  mantle  of  leaves. 

She  smiles  and  displays  her  white  teeth,  rising  from  their 
dark-colored  basis  like  a  privet  plant  in  full  bloom,  which 
pierces  a  bank  of  pure  sand  moistened  with  dew. 

To  her  teeth  the  sun  has  imparted  his  brilliant  water,  but 
not  to  the  part  where  they  grow,  which  is  sprinkled  with 
lead  ore,  while  the  ivory  remains  unspotted. 

Her  face  appears  to  be  wrapped  in  a  veil  pf  sunbeams  : 
unblemished  is  her  complexion,  and  her  skin  without  a 
wrinkle. 

Were  it  not  for  three  enjoyments  which  youth  affords,  1 
swear,  by  thy  prosperity,  that  I  should  little  care  how  soon 
my  friends  were  gathered  round  my  death-bed. 

First,  to  rise  before  the  censurers  awaken,  and  to  drink 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  ARABIANS.        141 

tawny  wine,  which  sparkles  and  froths  when  the  clear  stream 
is  poured  into  it. 

Ne.xt,  when  a  warrior,  encircled  by  foes,  implores  my  aid, 
to  urge  towards  him  my  prancing  charger,  fierce  as  a  wolf 
among  the  Gadha  trees,  whom  the  sound  of  liuman  steps  has 
awakened,  and  who  runs  to  quench  his  thirst  at  the  brook. 

Thirdly,  to  shorten  a  cloudy  day,  a  day  astonishingly  dark, 
by  toying  with  a  lovely,  delicate  girl,  under  a  tent  supported 
by  pillars ; 

A  girl  whose  bracelets  and  bands  seem  hung  on  the  stems 
of  oshar-trees  not  stripped  of  their  soft  leaves ! '  " 

In  the  poem  of  Amriolkais,  another  of  the  seven, 
we  have  the  following  description  of  an  Arabian 
beauty :  — 

"  With  many  a  spotless  virgin,  whose  tent  had  not  been 
frequented,  have  1  holden  soft  dalliance  at  perfect  leisure. 

To  visit  one  of  them,  1  passed  the  guards  of  her  bower, 
and  a  hostile  tribe,  who  would  have  been  eager  to  proclaim 
my  death. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  Pleiades  appeared  in  the  firma- 
ment, like  the  folds  of  a  silken  sash  variously  decked  with 
gems. 

Her  waist  was  gracefully  slender,  but  sweetly  swelled 
the  part  encircled  with  ornaments  of  gold.  Delicate  was  her 
shape,  fair  her  skin,  and  her  body  well  proportioned;  her 
bosom  was  smooth  as  a  mirror ; 

Or  like  the  pure  egg  of  an  ostrich,  yellow  blended  with 
/fhite    and  nourished  by  a  stream  of  wholesome  water. 

She  turned  aside  and  displayed  her  soft  cheek.  She 
gave  a  timid  glance  with  languishing  eyes,  like  those  of  a 
roe  in  the  groveg  of  Wegera,  looking  tenderly  at  her  young. 

The  long  coal-black  hair  decorated  her  back,  thick,  and 
diffused  like  bunches  of  dates  clustering  on  the  palm-tree. 

The  brightness  of  her  face  illumines  the  veil  of  night,  like 
the  evening  taper  of  a  recluse  hermit." 


112  LITERATUnE    OF    THE    ARABIANS. 

The  poem  of  Leboid  is  written  with  genuine  feehng 
and  pathos.  We  extract  the  following  striking  descrip- 
tion of  an  Arabian  deserted  village  :  — 

"  Desolate  are  the  mansions  of  the  fair,  the  stations  in 
Minia  where  they  rested,  and  those  where  they  fixed  their 
abodes.  Wild  are  the  hills  of  Goul,  and  deserted  is  the 
summit  of  Rijaam. 

The  canals  of  Rayaan  are  destroyed ;  their  remains  are 
laid  bare  and  smooth  by  the  floods,  like  characters  engraved 
on  the  solid  rocks. 

Dear  ruins!  Many  a  year  has  been  closed  —  many  a 
month,  holy  and  unhallowed,  has  elapsed  —  since  I  exchanged 
lender  vows  with  their  fair  inhabitants. 

The  rainy  constellations  of  spring  have  made  their  hills 
green  and  luxuriant.  The  drops  from  the  thunder-cloud 
have  drenched  them  with  heavy  and  with  gentle  showers. 

Here  the  wild  eringo  plants  raise  their  tops.  Here  the 
antelopes  bring  forth  their  young  by  the  sides  of  the  valley ; 
and  here  the  ostriches  drop  their  eggs. 

The  large-eyed  wild-cows  lie  suckling  their  young  a  few 
days  old  ;  their  young,  who  will  soon  become  a  herd  on  the 
plain. 

The  torrents  have  cleared  the  rubbish,  and  disclosed  the 
traces  of  habitations,  as  the  reeds  of  a  writer  restore  effaced 
letters  in  a  book  ;  or  as  the  black  dust,  sprinkled  over  the 
varied  marks  on  a  fair  hand,  brings  to  view,  with  a  brighter 
tint,  the  blue  stains  of  woad. 

1  stood  asking  of  the  ruins  news  concerning  tJieir  lovely 
habitanls  :  but  what  avail  my  questions  to  dreary  rocks  who 
nnswcr  only  with  their  echo  .' 

In  the  plains  which  now  are  naked,  a  populous  tribe  once 
dwelt ;  but  they  decamped  at  early  dawn,  and  nothing  of 
them  remains  but  the  canals  which  encircled  their  tents,  and 
the  thumaam  plants  with  which  they  were  repaired. 

How  were  thy  tender  affections  stirred  when  the  damsels 
of  the  tribe  departed ;    when  they  hid  themselves  in  their 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  ARABIANS.        14(5 

carriages  like  antelopes  in  their  lair;  and  their  tents,  as  they 
were  struck,  gave  a  piercing  sound  ! 

They  were  concealed  in  vehicles  whose  sides  were  well 
covered  with  awnings  and  carpets,  with  fine-spun  curtains 
and  pictured  veils. 

A  company  of  maidens  were  seated  in  them,  with  black 
eyes  and  graceful  motions,  like  the  wild  heifers  of  Tudah  or 
tiie  roes  of  Wcgera,  tenderly  gazing  on  their  young. 

They  hastened  their  camels  till  the  sultry  vapor  gradually 
stole  them  from  my  sight ;  and  they  disappeared  through  a 
vale  wild  with  taiiinrisks  and  rough  with  stones. 

Ah  !  what  remains  in  thy  remembrance  of  the  beautiful 
Nawara,  since  now  slie  dwells  at  a  distance,  and  all  the  bonds 
of  union  between  her  and  thee,  both  strong  and  weak,  arc 
torn  asunder  !  " 

n  contemplating  the  brilliant  light  which  the  litera- 
ture and  science  of  the  Arabians  shed  over  their  vast 
empire  from  the  ninth  to  the  fourteenth  century,  u 
melancholy  reflection  ari.ses.  "What  now  remains  of  so 
much  glory  ?  Bagdad,  formerly  the  residence  of 
luxury,  power,  and  knowledge,  is  a  heap  of  ruins.  The 
celebrated  universities  of  Cufa  and  Bassora  are  extinct, 
as  well  as  those  of  Balkh  and  Samarcand.  The  rich 
countries  of  Fez  and  iMorocco,  illustrious  for  five  cen- 
turies by  their  academies,  their  universities,  and  their 
libraries,  are  now  little  better  than  deserts  of  burning 
sand,  which  the  human  tyrant  disputes  with  the  beast 
of  prey.  Mauritania,  once  flourishing  in  commerce, 
arts,  and  agriculture,  is  now  the  retreat  of  corsairs. 
Egypt  is  gradually  disappearing  under  the  encroaching 
sands  of  the  desert.  Syria  and  Palestine  are  desolated 
by  wandering  Bedouins  and  tyrannical  pachas.  In  the 
immense  extent  of  territory  which  owned  the  sway  of 
the  caliphs,  twice  or  thrice  as  large  as  Europe,  little  is 


144  LITERATUHE    OF    THE    ARABIANrl. 

found  but  ignorance,  slavery,  terror,  and  death.  The 
prodigious  literary  riches  of  the  Arabians  no  longer 
exist  in  any  of  the  countries  where  the  Arabians  and 
the  Mussulmans  rule  :  these  wide  regions,  where  Islam- 
ism  reigned  and  continues  to  reign,  are  now  dead  to 
the  interests  of  science.  Not  more  than  a  dozen  indi- 
viduals are  in  a  situation  to  take  advantage  of  the 
manuscript  treasures  in  the  library  of  the  Escurial. 
A  few  hundreds  of  men  only,  dispersed  throughout  all 
Europe,  have  qualified  themselves,  by  obstinate  applica- 
tion, to  explore  the  rich  mines  of  Oriental  literature. 
These  scholars  with  difficulty  obtain  a  few  rare  manu- 
scripts ;  but  they  arc  unable  to  advance  far  enough  to 
form  a  judgment  of  the  whole  scope  of  that  literature 
of  which  they  have  so  partial  a  knowledga 


PERSIAN    LITERATURE, 


It  is  difficult  to  ascertain  the  extent  to  which  litera- 
ture, or  science,  was  cultivated  among  the  ancient  Per- 
sians. Nushirvan,  who  flourished  at  the  close  of  the 
sixth  century,  was  the  first  monarch  whom  historians 
notice  as  the  founder  of  a  college  ;  but  the  priests  had 
already  their  books  of  religion,  and  the  chronicles  of 
the  kings  of  Persia  were  preserved  with  great  care. 
The  learned  were  early  distinguished  for  their  knowl- 
edge of  astrology  which  implies  a  limited  acquaintance 
with  astronomy  ;  but  this  study,  as  well  as  all  others, 
appears  to  have  been  confined  to  the  priests  ;  and  it  is 
evident  that  their  boasted  learning,  under  the  greatest 
of  the  Sassanian  kings,  was  much  below  that  of  their 
western  neighbors.  Whatever  treasures,  in  science 
and  literature,  the  ancient  Persians  may  have  possessed, 
are  now  lost.  The  polished  fragments  of  vast  palaces, 
and  the  remains  of  fine  sculpture,  prove,  at  least,  that 
the  ancient  kings  of  Persia  were  rich  and  powerful 
monarchs,  if  not  that  their  subjects  were  civilized. 

During  the  first  two  centuries  after  the  conquest 
of  Persia  by  the  Mahometans,  the  literature  of  the 
country  was  very  little  cultivated,  the  preference  being 
given  to  the  Arabian.  But  when  the  power  of  the 
caliphs  began  to  decline,  under  the  Abassides,  a  number 
J      XVII. — 13 


146        LITERATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS. 

of  independent  princes  arose  in  the  different  provinces 
of  their  empire,  who  vied  with  one  another  in  pro- 
moting the  cultivation  of  letters.  The  accession  of  the 
Bouyah  family  to  the  throne  of  Persia,  in  the  tenth 
century,  marked  tlie  great  epoch  of  the  revival  of 
learning  in  this  country.  A  sort  of  rivalship  was  then 
called  forth  by  the  circumstance  of  three  contemporary 
princes,  all  lovers  of  letters,  reigning  at  once  in  the 
provinces  of  Persia.  To  the  united  efforts  of  these 
three  monarchs,  and  to  their  liberal  encouragement  of 
letters,  the  Persian  literature  may  be  said  to  have  been 
indebted  for  all  its  lustre.  This  flourishing  state  con- 
tinued until  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
when  the,  invasion  of  Zingis  Khan  gave  a  sudden  check 
to  the  cuTtivation  of  all  the  arts  of  peace.  After  this 
came  the  invasion  of  Timour,  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury ;  but  that  conqueror,  far  from  discouraging  polite 
literature,  adopted  the  religion  and  the  language  of 
the  country,  and  promoted  the  fine  arts  by  his  bound^ 
less  munificence. 

The  Turks,  who  ravaged  Persia  during  the  fifteenth:- 
century,  greatly  improved  their  own  harsh  dialect,  b. 
mixing  with  it  the  language  of  that  country ;  and  tht.' 
sultan  Mahomet  II.,  who  took  Constantinople,  is  enu 
merated  among  the  best  lyric  poets  of  Persia.     In  th 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  under  the  bloody 
reign  of  the   saltans  of  the   house   of  Sefi,   Persia 
literature  sank  to  the  lowest  state ;  even  the  languai 
was  corrupted,  and  borrowed  some  of  its  terms  fro 
the  Turkish,  which  was  commonly  spoken  at  court. 

The  Persian  language,  although  inferior  in  streng 
and  copiousness  to  the  Arabic,  is  rich,  melodious,  a 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    PERSIANS.  147 

elegant,  and  has  been  spoken,  for  many  ages,  by  the 
princes  of  the  politest  courts  of  Asia.  Mahomet  was 
once  heard  to  say,  that  the  language  of  Persia  would 
be  spoken  in  Paradise,  owing  to  its  extreme  softness. 
In  the  simplicity  of  its  grammar  it  has  been  compared 
to  the  English,  and  in  its  power  of  compounding  words, 
to  the  German.  It  contains  a  great  number  of  Arabic 
words,  and  is  written  with  the  Arabic  letters,  from  right 
to  left. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century,  Firdusi,* 
the  Homer  of  Persia,  wrote  his  Shah  Nameh.     A  cen- 
tury   afterward  flourished    Anweri   and    Reshidi   Abd 
el  Jelil,  both  of  Khorasan  ;  and  a  century  later,  Shiraz, 
which   has   not   improperly  been  called  the  Persian 
Athens,  gave  birth  to  several  distinguished  poets.     Of 
this  number  was  the  celebrated  Sadi,  who  left  behind 
him  several  works  in  prose  and  verse,  the  principal  of 
which  is  entitled  the  Gulistan,  or  Garden  of  Roses,  and 
s  a  sort  of  mystical  and  moral  poem,  of  which  several 
ditions  and   translations  have  been  published.     The 
ty  of  Shiraz  had  also  the  honor  of  producing,  in  the 
(urteenth  century,  the  most  elegant  lyric  poet  of  Asia, 
he  celebrated  Hafiz.     To  these  names  may  be  added 
4iat  of  Jami,  author  of  the  Beharistan,  or  Mansion  of 
lie  Spring  —  one  of  the  most  prolific  and  pleasing  of 
>11  the  Persian  poets.     The  catalogue  of  these  latter 
tf  sufiiciently  large ;  but  in  this  rapid  sketch,  wc  are 
de  to  point  out  only  the  most  eminent. 
The  Persians  are  enthusiastically  devoted  to  poetry. 

For  an  account  of  the  life  and   writings  of  Firdusi,  see 
■Ids  and  Shadows  of  Asiatic  History. 


148  LITERATURE    OF    THE    PEHSIANS. 

The  meanest  artisan  of  the  principal  cities  can  read  or 
recite  the  finest  passages  from  their  most  admired 
writers ;  and  even  the  rude,  unlettered  soldier  leaves 
his  tent,  to  listen  with  rapture  to  the  strain  of  the  min- 
strel who  sings  a  mystic  song  of  divine  love,  or 
recites  the  tale  of  a  battle  of  his  forefathers.  The 
very  essence  of  Soofeeism,  a  Mahometan  doctrine, 
spread  all  over  Persia,  is  poetry.  The  raptures  of 
genius,  expatiating  on  a  subject  that  can  never  be  ex- 
hausted, are  deemed  holy  inspirations  by  those  who 
believe  that  the  emancipated  soul  can  wander  at  large 
in  the  regions  of  the  imagination,  and  even  unite  whh 
its  Creator.  The  Musnavi,  a  work  written  by  Jellal- 
ud-din,  teaches,  in  the  sweetest  strain,  that  all  nature 
abounds  with  a  divine  love,  causing  even  the  lowest 
plant  to  seek  the  sublime  object  of  its  desire.  From 
this  favorite  work  of  the  Soofees,  we  make  the  follow- 
ing extract :  — 

"  Hear  how  yon  reed,  in  sadly-pleasing  tales, 
Departed  bliss  and  present  woe  bewails  !  — 
'  With  me,  from  native  banks  untimely  torn, 
Love-warbling  youths  and  soft-eyed  virgins  mourn. 
O,  let  the  heart  by  fatal  absence  rent 
Feel  what  I  sing,  and  bleed  when  I  lament ; 
Who  roams  in  exile  from  his  parent  bower, 
Pants  to  return,  and  chides  the  lingering  hour. 
My  notes,  in  circles  of  the  grave  and  gay, 
Have  hailed  the  rising,  cheered  the  closing  day. 
Each  in  my  fond  affection  claimed  a  part, 
But  none  discerned  the  secret  of  my  heart. 
What  though  my  strains  and  sorrow  flow  combined, 
Yet  ears  are  slow,  and  carnal  eyes  are  blind. 
Free  through  each  mortal  form  the  spirits  roll, 
But  siffhs  avail  not  —  Can  we  see  the  soul  ? ' 


LITERATUEE  OF  THE  PEBSIAKS.        149 

• Such  notes  breathed  gently  from  yon  vocal  frame 

Breathed,  said  I  ?  —  No  !  —  'Twas  all  enlivening  flame. 

'Tis  love  that  fills  the  reed  with  warmth  divine, 

'Tis  love  that  sparkles  in  the  rosy  wine. 

Me,  plaintive  wanderer  from  my  peerless  maid, 

The  reed  has  fired,  and  all  my  soul  betrayed. 

He  gives  the  bane,  and  he  with  balsam  cures  — 

Afflicts,  yet  soothes  — impassions,  yet  allures. 

Hail,  heavenly  love  !  true  source  of  endless  gains  ' 
Thy  balm  restores  me,  and  thy  skill  sustains. 
O  more  than  Galen  learned,  than  Plato  wise  ! 
My  guide,  my  law,  my  joy  supreme,  arise  ! 
Love  warms  this  frigid  clay  with  m3''stic  fire, 
And,  dancing  mountains  leap  with  young  desire. 
Blest  is  the  soul  that  swims  in  seas  of  love, 
And  long  the  life  sustained  by  food  above. 
With  forms  imperfect  can  perfection  dwell .' 
Here  pause,  my  song;  and  tliou,  vain  world,  farewell !   * 

The  above-named  poem ;  the  works  of  Jami,  which 
breathe  in  every  line  the  most  ecstatic  rapture  ;  the  book 
of  moral  lessons  of  the  eloquent  Sadi ;  and  the  lyric  and 
mystic  odes  of  Hafiz,  —  may  be  termed  the  Scriptures 
of  the  Persian  Soofees.  To  these  they  continually 
refer ;  and  the  gravest  writers  who  have  defended  their 
doctrine  take  their  proof  from  these  and  other  poets, 
whom  they  deem  inspired  by  their  holy  theme. 

Sadi  has  a  great  reputation  in  Persia,  no  less  as  a 
wise  man  and  a  moralist,  than  as  a  poet.  Ho  seeks 
by  fiction  to  adorn,  not  to  encumber  truth,  and  the 
admiration  of  the  reader  is  invariably  given  more  to 
the  sentiment  than  to  the  language.  His  Gulistan 
consists  of  short  tales,  apologues,  and  anecdotes,  inter- 
spersed with  epigrams  in  verse.  In  these  compositions, 
Sadi  may  challenge  competition  with  any  writer  of  the 
13* 


150        LITERATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS. 

East.     The  following  apologue  is  a  specimen  of  his 
graver  style :  — 

"  One  day,  as  I  was  in  the  bath,  a  friend  put  into  my  hand 
a  piece  of  scented  clay.  I  took  it,  and  said  to  it,  'Art  thou 
musk  or  ambergris  ?  for  I  am  charmed  with  thy  perfume.' 
It  answered,  '  I  was  a  despicable  piece  of  clay,  but  I  was 
sometimes  in  company  with  the  rose.  The  sweet  quality  of 
my  companion  was  communicated  to  me ;  otherwise  I  should 
be  nothing  but  a  bit  of  clay,  as  I  appear  to  be." 

Of  the  aphorisms  of  Sadi  we  will  give  a  specimen  or 
two :  — 

•'  The  snows  of  age  rest  upon  my  head, 
Yet  my  disposition  still  makes  me  a  youth." 

Addressed  to  a  sovereign  :  — 

"  Be  merciful,  and  learn  to  conquer  without  an  army ; 
Seize  upon  the  hearts  of  mankind,  and  be  the  world's  con- 
queror !  " 

The  following,  as  applied  to  Eastern  manners,  hap- 
pily illustrates  the  danger  of  negligence  in  discharging 
the  active  duties  of  life  :  — 

"  Alas  for  him  that  is  gone,  and  has  not  done  his  work ! 
The  drum  for  mounting  has  sounded,  and  he  has  not  made 
up  his  load." 

Very  different  from  Sadi  is  Hafiz,  the  Horace  of  the 
East,  who,  notwithstanding  the  difference  of  national 
manners,  and  consequent  difference  of  poetic  illustra- 
tion, is  the  Oriental  writer  with  whose  works  a  Western 
scholar  will  most  wish  to  become  familiar.  His  poetry 
is  uttered  in  the  sweetest  musical  strains,  and  his  fame 
rests  upon  the  creative  force  of  his  imagination,  and 
the  easy  flow  of  his  numbers.  He  delights  the  reader 
by  the  very  scorn  with  which  he  rejects  all  sobriety  of 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS.        151 

thought,  and  all  continuity  of  subject.  He  has  the 
singular  good  fortune  of  being  alike  praised  by  ortho- 
dox and  heterodox  among  his  countrymen  —  by  saints 
and  by  sinners.  His  odes  are  sung  by  the  young  and 
joyous,  who,  taking  them  in  the  literal  sense  find  noth- 
ing but  an  excitement  in  them  to  pass  the  spring  of 
life  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  world's  luxuries  ;  while 
the  contemplative  sage,  considering  this  poet  as  a  re- 
ligious enthusiast,  attaches  a  mystical  meaning  to 
every  line,  and  repeats  his  ode  as  he  would  an  orison. 
Hafiz  thus  strangely  seems  to  combine  the  characters 
of  Tom  Moore  and  Dr.  Watts. 

The  following  ode  of  Hafiz  was  translated  by  Sir 
William  Jones :  — 

••  Sweet  maid,  if  thou  wouldst  charm  my  sight. 

And  bid  these  arms  thy  neck  infold, 

That  rosy  cheek,  tliat  lily  hand, 

Would  give  thy  poet  more  delight 

Than  all  Bokhara's  vaunted  gold, 

Than  all  the  gems  of  Samarcand. 

Boy,  let  yon  liquid  ruby  flow. 
And  bid  thy  Persian  heart  be  glad  ; 
Whate'er  the  frowning  zealots  say, 
Tell  them  their  Eden  cannot  show 
A  stream  so  clear  as  Rocnabad, 
A  bower  so  sweet  as  Moseliay. 

O,  when  these  fair,  perfidious  maids, 
Whose  eyes  our  secret  haunts  infest. 
Their  dear,  destructive  charms  display, 
Each  glance  my  tender  breast  invades. 
And  robs  my  wounded  soul  of  rest. 
As  Tartars  seize  their  destined  prey. 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS. 

In  vain  with  love  our  bosoms  glow ; 
Can  all  our  tears,  can  all  our  sighs, 
New  lustre  to  those  charms  impart  ? 
Can  cheeks  where  living  roses  blow, 
Where  Nature  spreads  her  richest  dyes, 
Require  the  borrowed  gloss  of  art  ? 

Speak  not  of  fate  :  —  ah  !  change  the  theme, 

And  talk  of  odors,  talk  of  wine  ; 

Talk  of  the  flowers  that  round  us  bloom ;  — 

'Tis  all  a  cloud,  'tis  all  a  dream ;  — 

To  love  and  joy  thy  thoughts  confine, 

Nor  hope  to  pierce  the  sacred  gloom. 

Beauty  has  such  resistless  power, 
That  e'en  the  chaste  Egyptian  dame 
Sighed  for  the  blooming  Hebrew  boy ; 
For  her  how  fatal  was  the  hour. 
When  to  the  banks  of  Nilus  came 
A  youth  so  lowly  and  so  coy. 

But  ah  !  sweet  maid,  my  counsel  hear ;  — 
Youth  should  attend  when  those  advise 
Whom  long  experience  renders  sage  : 
While  music  charms  the  ravished  ear, 
While  sparkling  cups  delight  our  eyes, 
Be  gay,  and  scorn  the  frowns  of  age. 

What  cruel  answer  have  1  heard  ! 

And  yet,  by  Heaven,  I  love  thee  still ; 

Can  aught  be  cruel  from  thy  lips  .' 

Yet  say  how  fell  that  bitter  word 

From  lips  which  streams  of  sweetness  fill, 

Which  nought  but  drops  of  honey  sip .' 

Go  boldly  forth,  my  simple  lay, 
Whose  accents  flow  with  artless  ease, 


LITEHATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS.        153 

Like  Orient  pearls  at  random  strung ; 
Thy  notes  are  sweet,  the  damsels  say ; 
But  O  !  far  sweeter,  if  they  please 
The  nymph  for  whom  these  notes  are  sung." 

In  the  department  of  history,  the  Persians  have  pro- 
duced some  works  which  would  do  honor  to  any  age 
or  people.  IMirkhond  wrote  an  historical  work,  in  sev- 
eral volumes,  containing  the  history  of  the  prophets, 
kings,  and  caliphs.  His  son,  Khondemir,  wrote  the 
Cream  of  the  Histories,  and  the  Friend  of  the  Travel- 
lers. Abdallah  Al  Bcdawee  wrote  a  Universal  His- 
tory from  Adam  to  his  own  Time,  (1276.)  Ferishta,  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  wrote  a  valuable  historical 
work,  which  has  been  translated  uito  English.  Abul- 
fadhl,  the  vizier  of  the  emperor  Akbar,  wrote  the  Akbar 
Nameh,  containing  a  history  of  that  sovereign  and  his 
predecessors.  Beside  these,  there  are  numerous  works 
comprehending  short  periods  of  time,  or  histories  of 
single  dynasties  and  reigns. 

The  literature  of  the  Persians  abounds  with  prose 
fables  and  moral  tales,  mostly  borrowed  from  the  Hin- 
doos. Of  this  class  is  a  Persian  translation  of  the 
Fables  of  Pilpay,  or  Bidpai.  They  have  also  a 
translation  or  paraphrase  of  the  Sanscrit  Hitopadesa. 
The  Persians,  in  the  luxuriance  of  their  imaginations, 
have  wonderfully  embellished  the  less  artificial  wri- 
tings of  the  natives  of  India.  The  lowest  animaLs 
which  they  introduce  into  their  fables  speak  a  language 
which  would  do  honor  to  a  king ;  and  all  nature  con- 
tributes to  adorn  their  metaphorical  style.  This  fault 
of  grandiloquence,  and  the  abuse  of  figures  of  speech, 
is  the  besetting  sin  of  their  historical  writers. 


154  LITERATUEE    OF    THE    PERSIANS. 

One  of  these  fables  is  uttered  by  the  philosophic 
Barzooyeh,  who,  in  a  work  entitled  the  Touchstone  of 
Wisdom,  introduces  his  fiction,  with  a  gravity  worthy 
of  a  Christian  moralist,  thus  :  — 

"  The  questions  regarding  the  attributes  of  the  Creator  and 
the  nature  of  futurity,  have  been  sources  of  never-ending 
doubt  and  discussion.  Every  one  deems  his  opinion  the  true 
one,  and  his  life  is  wasted  in  efforts  to  raise  his  own  sect  and 
disparage  others.  But  how  many  of  these  persons  are  mere 
self- worshippers,  in  whom  there  is  not  a  trace  of  real  religion, 
or  of  the  knowledge  of  God  ! 

How  deeply  do  I  regret  that  time  which  I  myself  have 
lost  in  pursuit  of  these  vain  imaginations,  searching  every 
path,  but  never  finding  the  true  way,  and  never  even  dis- 
covering a  guide  !  1  have  consulted  the  wise  and  learned  of 
all  religions  as  to  the  origin  of  that  faith  in  wliich  they  be- 
lieved ;  but  I  have  found  them  only  busied  with  propping  up 
their  own  notions,  and  trying  to  overset  those  of  others. 

At  last,  finding  no  medicine  for  the  sickness  of  my  heart, 
and  no  balm  for  the  wounds  of  my  soul,  1  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  foundation  of  all  these  acts  was  self-conceit. 
I  had  heard  nothing  that  a  wise  man  could  approve ;  and  1 
thought  that  if  I  gave  my  faith  to  their  creed,  I  should  be  as 
foolish  as  the  poor  thief,  who  by  an  unmeaning  word  was 
deluded  to  his  destruction. 

Once  upon  a  time,  some  thieves  contrived  to  get  on  the 
top  of  a  rich  man's  house,  in  the  middle  of  the  night;  but  he, 
hearing  their  footsteps,  and  guessing  their  business,  waked 
his  wife,  and  whispered  what  had  occurred. 

'  I  shall  feign  myself  asleep,'  said  he  :  '  do  you  pretend  to 
awake  me,  and  begin  a  conversation  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  the  thieves.  Demand  of  me  very  earnestly  how  I  got 
my  money,  and  notwithstanding  1  refuse  to  tell  you,  still 
urge  me  to  a  confession.' 

The  woman  did  as  she  was  instructed,  and  the  husband 
replied  aloud,  '  Have  done  with  such  questions,  for  if  I  tell 
vou  the  truth,  I  may  be  overheard,  and  get  into  trouble.' 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS.        155 

This  only  stimulated  the  lady's  curiosity,  as  she  pretended; 
and  at  length  the  husband,  as  if  wearied  with  her  importu- 
nities, answered,  '  Nay,  if  1  tell  you,  1  shall  depart  from  the 
old  maxim,  "  Never  trust  a  woman  with  a  secret."  ' 

The  lady  now  feigned  great  irritation,  and  said,  '  What ! 
am  1  not  the  cherished  wife  of  your  bosom  ? '  Sec.  — '  Well, 
well,'  said  her  husband  at  last,  '  as  you  are  my  true  and  con- 
fidential friend,  I  suppose  I  must  tell  all :  but  beware  how 
you  breathe  a  syllable  of  it  to  any  living  mortal.'  The 
woman  promised  every  thing,  of  course,  and  the  man,  ap- 
pearing quite  satisfied,  proceeded  as  follows  :  — 

'  Learn,  my  dear  wife,  that  all  my  wealth  is  plunder.  1 
came  into  possession  of  a  mystic  charm,  by  which,  when 
standing,  on  a  moonlight  night,  near  a  rich  man's  house,  I 
could,  by  repeating  the  words,  Sholim,  Sholim,  Sholim, 
seven  times,  and  at  the  same  time  laying  my  hand  on  a 
moonbeam,  vault  at  once  on  the  roof;  where  again  1  ex- 
claimed Sholim  !  Sholim  !  Sholim  !  seven  times,  and  with 
the  utmost  ease  jumped  down  into  the  house  ;  and  again  pro- 
nouncing, Sholim  !  Sholim  I  Sholim  '  seven  times,  all  the 
riches  in  the  house  were  brought  to  my  view.  I  took  what  1 
liked  best,  and  for  the  last  time  calling  out,  Sholim  !  Sholim  ! 
Sholim  !  I  sprang  out  of  the  window  with  my  booty;  and  by 
the  blessing  of  this  charm,  I  was  not  only  invisible,  but  pre- 
served from  even  the  suspicion  of  guilt.' 

The  robbers,  who  heard  and  believed  every  word  of  this 
story,  chuckled  with  great  glee  over  the  precious  discovery, 
and  took  care  to  treasure  up  in  their  memories  the  magic 
words.  Some  time  afterwards,  the  leader  of  the  band,  think- 
ing every  body  fast  asleep,  cried  out,  '  Sholim  !  Sholim  !  Sho- 
lim ! '  seven  times,  and,  springing  forward,  fell  down  the  scut- 
tle, heels  over  head,  into  tlie  room.  The  master  of  the  house, 
who  was  awake,  and  all  ready  for  his  visitor,  instantly 
clutched  him  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  began  to 
soften  his  shoulders  handsomely  by  the  help  of  a  cudgel, 
crying  out,  '  Have  1  earned  all  my  money  for  nothing  but 
to  let  a  fellow  like  you  snap  it  up  and  run  off  with  it .'  Who 
are  you .' '    The  thief  replied,  '  1  am  that  senseless  Wockhead 


• 


156        LITERATURE  OF  THE  PERSIANS. 

whom  a  breath  of  yours  has  consigned  to  the  dust.  The 
proverb  is  verified  in  my  fate,  "  I  have  spread  my  carpet  for 
prayer  on  the  surface  of  the  waters."  ' 

In  fine,  (adds  Barzooyeli,)  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
if,  without  better  proof  than  delusive  words,  I  were  to  follow 
any  of  the  modes  of  faith  which  I  have  described,  I  should 
be  no  better  off  tlian  the  fool,  in  this  tale,  who  trusted  to 
Sholim  !  Sholim  !  Sholim  !  " 

From  a  general  view  of  their  literature,  it  is  appa- 
rent that  none  of  the  sciences  or  arts  which  have  con- 
tributed to  enlighten  and  reform  the  minds  of  men,  in 
other  countries,  have  been  overlooked  by  the  modern 
Persians.  The  library  of  a  Mahometan,  whether  born 
in  India  or  in  Persia,  consists  of  books  in  the  Arabic 
and  Persian.  But  although  they  embrace  every  topic 
which  can  engage  the  attention  of  the  studious,  they 
inspire  very  different  degrees  of  interest.  Their  theol- 
ogy consists  in  prolix  and  abstruse  commentaries  on 
the  Koran,  in  legendary  tales  of  the  miracles  per- 
formed at  the  tombs  of  holy  sheiks,  and  in  the  enthu- 
siastic rhapsodies  of  the  Soofees.  In  the  history  of 
human  opinions,  those  of  the  Persians,  who  are  by  no 
means  deficient  in  natural  sagacity,  are  doubtless  en- 
titled to  a  place ;  but  it  is  only  in  this  point  of  view  that 
they  can  deserve  attention.  Their  reasoning  faculties 
have  never  been  judiciously  applied  to  the  observation 
of  the  phenomena  of  mind. 

Their  works  of  imagination  must  not  be  estimated 
by  the  rules  of  criticism  derived  from  the  writers  of 
Greece  and  Rome.  The  exuberant  fancy  of  an  East- 
ern poet  acknowledges  no  check,  and  spurns  the  con- 
trol of  what  we  regard  as  a  correct  taste.  From  that 
circumstance,  few  of  the  Persian  poems  admit  of  literal 


m 


LITERATURE    OF    THE    PERSIANS. 


157 


or  entire  translations ;  though  the  fire  of  genius,  the 
novehy  of  the  manners,  and  the  bizarre  ornaments  of 
the  Oriental  Muses,  render  them  highly  attractive  to 
those  whose  tastes  ai-e  not  too  exclusively  formed  on 
higher  models,  but  are  capable  of  relishing  the  sublime 
ejxd  beautiful,  though  arrayed  in  an  unusual  costume. 


xvn. — 14 


LITERATURE    OF   THE    TURKS. 


The  Turkish  language  comprises  a  variety  of  dia- 
lects, which  constitute  a  particular  family,  differing 
radically  from  the  Arabic,  Persian,  Mongol,  and  Chi- 
nese. Of  these  dialects  the  Osmanlee,  which  is  spoken 
at  Constantinople,  is  the  richest  and  most  polished.  It 
may  be  considered  as  a  compound  of  the  ancient  Sel- 
jukian  language,  and  that  of  the  tribe  of  Kayi,  from 
which  the  Osmanlees  are  descended.  It  has  no  article, 
and  in  its  construction  resembles  the  Latin  ;  a  sentence 
generally  cannot  be  understood  till  the  last  word  is 
uttered.  Compound  words  are  formed  in  the  Turkish 
with  as  much  ease  as  in  the  Greek,  English,  German, 
or  Persian;  and  in  this  particular  it  diflers  radically 
from  the  Arabic.  This  language  has  found  its  ad- 
mirers among  European  scholars,  who  affirm  that  its 
regularity,  precision,  and  elegance,  are  such,  that  if  any 
academy  were  commissioned  to  make  a  language,  it 
would  not  form  one  more  perfect  than  the  Turkish. 
Sir  William  Jones  says,  "  The  Turkish  language  has 
an  admirable  dignity.  The  Persian  is  fit  for  joyous 
and  amatory  subjects,  the  Arabic  for  poetry  and  elo- 
quence, but  the  Turkish  for  moral  subjects." 

The  Turkish  is  now  the  diplomatic  and  official  lan- 
guage, not   only  of  Turkey,  but  Egypt,  Tunis,  and 


LITEEATUEE    OF    THE    TUKKS.  159 

Tripoli,  and  formerly  of  Algiers.  The  Turkish  litera- 
ture is  of  ancient  origin.  During  the  reigns  of  Osman 
and  his  successors,  a  great  number  of  Arabic,  Persian, 
Greek,  and  Latin  works  were  translated  into  Turkish. 
Mahomet  II.,  it  is  said,  ordered  a  translation  of  Plu- 
tarch's Lives.  Soliman  I.  had  the  Commentaries  of 
Cajsar  translated.  Aristotle  and  Euclid  were  translated 
in  the  commencement  of  Turkish  history.  In  later 
times,  a  number  of  English,  German,  Italian,  and  French 
works  on  history,  geography,  medicine,  chemistry,  math- 
ematics, and  the  military  science,  have  been  translated 
into  Turkish.  The  original  literature  of  the  Turks  is 
said  to  be  valuable ;  but  it  appears  to  have  been  little 
studied  by  the  learned  of  Christendom.  j\Iany  of  the 
Turkish  sultans  were  distinguished  poets,  and  their 
works  are  still  extant.  The  oldest  Turkish  poet  of 
renown  is  Ashik  Pacha,  who  lived  in  the  reigns  of  Os- 
man and  Urkhan.  The  reign  of  Bajazet  II.  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  following  poets:  Nejati,  who  was 
considered  the  first  lyrist  of  his  time,  and  who  trans- 
lated many  Arabic  works  ;  Mesihi,  an  admired  poet,  a 
specimen  of  whose  works  we  shall  presently  lay  before 
the  reader ;  Afitabi,  Muniri,  Prince  Korkud,  and  the 
female  poet  Mihri,  a  native  of  Amasia.  The  greatest 
of  all  Turkish  poets  is  Baki,  who  was  high  judge  of 
Roumili,  and  died  in  1600  ;  but  none  of  his  works  have 
been  translated  into  English. 

The  following  version  of  an  ode  of  Mesihi  is  by 
Sir  William  Jones,  and  appears  to  be  as  close  an  imi- 
tation of  the  measure  of  the  original,  as  the  English 
language  will  admit :  — 


160  LITERATTJRE    OF    THE    TURKS. 

Spring. 

"  Hear  now  the  nightingales,  on  every  spray, 
Hail,  in  wild  notes,  the  sweet  return  of  May  ! 
The  gale  that  o'er  yon  waving  almond  blows 
The  verdant  bank  with  silver  blossoms  strows ; 
The  smiling  season  decks  each  flowery  glade  ; 
Be  gay  : — :too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 

What  gales  of  fragrance  scent  the  vernal  air  ! 
Hills,  dales,  and  woods,  their  loveliest  mantles  wear. 
Who  knows  what  cares  await  that  fatal  day. 
When  ruder  gusts  shall  banish  gentle  May  ? 
E'en  death,  perhaps,  our  valleys  will  invade  ; 
Be  gay  :  — too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 

The  tulip  now  its  varied  hue  displays. 
And  sheds,  like  Ahmed's  eye,  celestial  rays. 
All  nature  ever  faithful,  ever  true  ! 
The  joys  of  youth,  while  May  invites,  pursue. 
Will  not  these  notes  your  timorous  minds  persuade .' 
Be  gay  :  —  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 

The  sparkling  dew-drops  o'er  the  lilies  play, 
Like  Orient  pearls,  or  like  the  beams  of  day. 
If  love  and  mirth  your  wanton  thoughts  engage,  — 
Attend,  ye  nymphs,  a  poet's  words,  or  sage,  — 
While  thus  you  sit  beneath  the  trembling  shade, 
Be  gay  :  —  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 

The  fresh-blown  rose  like  Zeineb's  cheek  appears, 
When  pearls,  like  dew-drops,  glitter  in  her  ears. 
The  charms  of  youth  at  once  are  seen  and  past, 
And  nature  says  they  are  too  sweet  to  last. 
So  blooms  the  rose,  and  so  the  blushing  maid  ; 
Be  gay  :  —  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 

See  yon  anemones  their  leaves  unfold. 
With  rubies  flaming,  and  with  living  gold 
While  crystal  showers  from  weeping  clouds  descend, 
Enjoy  the  presence  of  thy  tuneful  friend. 
Now,  while  the  wines  are  brought,  the  sofas  laid, 
Be  gay  :  —  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 


LITERATCTRE    OF    THE    TURKS.  161 

The  plants  no  more  are  dried,  the  meadows  dead , 
No  more  the  rose-bud  hangs  her  pensive  head  ; 
The  shrubs  revive  in  valleys,  meads,  and  bowers, 
And  every  stalk  is  diademed  with  flowers. 
In  silken  robes  each  hillock  stands  arrayed ; 
Be  gay  :  — too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade. 

Clear  drops,  each  morn,  impearl  the  rose's  bloom, 
And  from  its  leaf  the  zephyrs  drink  perfume. 
The  dewy  buds  expand  their  liquid  store ; 
Be  this  our  wealth  —  ye  damsels,  ask  no  more ; 
Though  wise  men  envy,  and  though  fools  upbraid, 
Be  ga}"^  :  —  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade 

Late,  gloomy  winter  chilled  the  sullen  air. 
Till  Soliman  arose,  and  all  was  fair. 
Soft,  in  his  reign,  tlie  notes  of  love  resound, 
And  pleasure's  rosy  cup  goes  freely  round. 
Here,  on  the  bank  which  mantling  vines  o'ershade. 
Be  gay  :  —  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  w:.l  fade. 

May  this  rude  lay  from  age  to  age  remain, 
A  true  memorial  of  this  lovely  train. 
Come,  charming  maid,  and  hear  thy  poet  sing, 
Thyself  the  rose,  and  he  the  bird  of  spring. 
Love  bids  him  sing,  and  love  will  be  obeyed  ; 
Be  gay  :  — too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade." 

The  Turkish  poels  have  been  censured  for  copying 
•he  Persian  with  too  much  servility  ;  but  in  this  respect 
fhey  have  but  followed  the  example  of  the  Latin 
writers,  in  their  imitation  of  the  Greeks.  Horace,  in 
particular,  not  only  imitated  the  measure  and  expres- 
sions of  the  Greeks,  but  even  translated,  almost  word 
for  word,  the  finest  passages  of  Alcaius,  Anacreon, 
and  others.  But  the  Turkish  poets  are  not  without 
origmality  :  the  Satires  of  Ruhi  Bagdadi  are  pro- 
nounced, by  a  competent  judge,  to  be  very  forcible  and 
pungent.  More  than  two  centuries  ago,  a  work  waa 
K        14* 


LITERATURE   OF   THE   TURKS. 

published  at  Constantinople,  containing  extract*  from 

549  Turkish  poets,  which  show  that  they  were  passion- 
ately addicted  to  the  art,  whatever  degree  of  excellence 
they  may  have  attained  in  the  practice  of  it.  The  fol- 
lowing verses  have  been  translated  by  Lord  Byron 
from  an  anonymous  Turkish  poet :  — 

"  The  chain  1  gave  was  fair  to  view, 

The  lute  I  added  sweet  in  sound  ; 
The  heart  that  offered  both  was  true, 

And  ill  deserved  the  fate  it  found. 

These  gifts  were  charmed  with  secret  spell 

Thy  truth  in  absence  to  divine  ; 
And  they  have  done  their  duty  well ; 

Alas  !  they  could  not  teach  thee  thine. 

That  chain  was  firm  in  every  link. 

But  would  not  bear  a  stranger's  touch  ; 

That  lute  was  sweet,  till  thou  couldst  think 
In  other  hands  its  notes  were  such. 

Let  him  who  from  thy  neck  unbound 

That  chain,  which  shivered  in  his  grasp  , 

Who  saw  that  lute  refuse  to  sound, 
Restring  the  chords,  renew  the  clasp. 

When  thou  wert  changed,  they  altered  too  ; 

The  chain  is  broke,  the  music  mute  ; 
'Tis  past  —  to  them  and  thee  adieu  ! 

False  heart,  frail  chain,  and  silent  lute  !  " 

The  number  of  Turkish  historians  is  very  great,  and 
several  of  them  are  highly  esteemed  for  then-  impar- 
tiality, judgment,  and  concise  beauty  of  style.  Some  of 
*^heir  works  are  unquestionably  valuable,  and  exhibit  a 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  TURKS.         163 

spirit  of  impartiality  toward  the  Christians,  worthy  of 
high  commendation.  Among  their  biographers  we 
may  mention  Hatifi,  who  wrote  the  Uves  of  about 
200  Turkish  poets.  The  literature  of  the  Turks  has 
also  been  enriched  by  numerous  works  on  morals, 
divinity,  philosophy,  geography,  and  natural  science. 
Their  philosophy,  which  originated  in  the  famous  school 
of  Bokhara,  has  a  mystical  character,  and  resembles  in 
many  pomts  the  speculative  doctrines  of  the  German 
Schelling,  especially  with  regard  to  pantheism. 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 


The  language  called  Italian  is  the  written  language 
of  Italy  —  that  in  which  books  are  there  chiefly  com- 
posed, and  which  all  educated  persons  are  taught  as  a 
branch  of  school  instruction.  But  a  small  part  of  the 
people  of  Italy,  however,  speak  this  language  ;  for  the 
great  mass  use  the  dialects  which  belong  to  the  several 
sections  of  the  country.  Among  these  dialects,  the 
Milanese,  Venetian,  Mantuan,  Piedraontese,  Genoese, 
Bolognese,  Neapolitan,  Sicilian,  and  Calabrian,  are  the 
principal.  These  dialects  must  not  be  considered  as 
corruptions  of  the  Italian  language,  but  as  independent 
tongues,  having  an  affinity  to  it,  and  having  sprung  up 
even  at  periods  anterior  to  it.  Many  of  them  are  rich 
and  graceful,  and  are  the  vehicles  in  which  some 
eminent  authors  have  given  their  thoughts  to  the 
world.  The  Venetian  is  smooth  and  musical,  and  is 
impressed  with  the  character  of  the  people.  The 
Neapolitan  is  copious,  abounds  in  diminutive  and 
vituperative  terms,  and  is  suited  to  the  broad  humor 
and  imitative  harmony  which  mark  the  taste  of  South- 
ern Italy. 

The  classic  Italian  is,  in  fact,  the  Tuscan  dialect, 
which  acquired  a  greater  polish  than  the  others ;  and, 
through  the  influence  of  several  eminent  writei-s  of  the 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  165 

fourteenth  century,  —  Dante,  Petrarch,  Boccaccio 
Sachetli,  Villani,  and  others,  all  Tuscans,  —  it  acquired 
an  ascendency  which  it  has  since  maintained.  This 
celebrated  tongue,  so  much  admired  over  the  world,  is 
not,  however,  the  language  of  the  lower  orders,  of  the 
nursery,  the  streets,  and  the  markets,  in  any  part  of 
Italy  except  in  Tuscany,  and  a  part  of  the  States  of 
the  Church. 

The  period  to  which  we  have  just  adverted  is  a 
remarkable  one  in  the  history  of  Italian  literature. 
While  the  rest  of  Europe  was  groping  in  the  gloom 
of  the  dark  ages,  several  eminent  men  sprang  up  in 
Central  Italy,  and,  devoting  themselves  to  letters,  not 
only  shed  an  undying  lustre  over  their  country,  but 
greatly  aided  in  clearing  the  sky  of  the  clouds  which 
had  invested  it  for  a  thousand  years. 

The  first  and  greatest  among  these  great  names,  is 
that  of  Dante,  or  Dura'nle  AUghie'ri,  who  was  born  in 
Florence,  in  1265,  His  family  was  noble,  and  he 
received  all  the  advantages  of  a  liberal  education.  He 
appears  to  have  led  a  licentious  life,  till  he  became 
acquainted  with  Beatrice  Portinari,  of  an  illustrious 
family  of  Florence.  His  attachment,  however,  seems 
to  have  been  merely  platonic,  but  it  served  to  purify 
his  sentiments.  The  lady  herself  died  about  the  year 
1290,  when  Dante  was  about  twenty-five  years  of  age ; 
but  he  continued  to  cherish  her  memory,  if  we  are  to 
judge  from  his  poems,  to  the  latest  period  of  his  life. 
It  must  have  been  about,  or  a  little  before,  the  time 
of  Beatrice's  death,  that  he  wrote  his  Vita  Nuova, 
which  is  a  series  of  canzoni   mixed   with   prose,   in 


166  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

which  he  speaks  of  his  love  m  a  spiritual  and  platonic 
strain,  and  of  the  change  it  produced  in  him,  which 
was  the  beginning  of  his  new  life. 

At  this  period,  Italy  was  divided  into  two  factions  — 
the  Guelphs,  who  professed  to  be  the  favorers  of  a 
popular  form  of  government,  and  the  Guibelines,* 
who  were,  for  the  most  part,  actuated  by  a  spirit  of 

*  The  two  great  parties,  the  Guelphs  and  Guibelines,  had 
their  origin  in  a  contest  between  two  rivals  for  the  imperial 
throne  of  Germany — Conrad,  duke  of  Franconia,  whose 
family  name  was  Weiblingen,  and  hence  Guiheline  —  and 
Henry,  the  Lion,  duke  of  Saxony,  of  the  house  of  Welf,  and 
hence  Guelph.  In  course  of  time,  the  name  of  Guelphs  was 
given  to  all  who  were  disaffected  toward  the  emperor  of 
Germany,  and  that  of  Guibelines  to  the  supporters  of  his 
authority.  The  popes  favored  the  disaffected  Guelphs,  and 
became  the  leaders  of  that  party ;  and  consequently  the 
Italian  cities  were  divided  between  the  adherents  of  the 
popes  and  those  of  the  emperors.  The  names  of  Guelphs 
and  Guibelines  were  not  generally  adopted  in  Italy  till  the 
reign  of  Frederic  II.,  when  Italy  was  divided,  as  it  were, 
into  two  camps ;  some  cities,  such  as  Florence,  Milan,  Bo- 
logna, ranging  themselves  on  the  Guelph  side,  while  Pisa, 
Arezzo,  Verona,  and  others,  continued  to  be  Guibeline.  But 
in  the  long  struggle  that  ensued,  many  changes  took  place 
in  each  city,  where  sometimes  the  Guelphs,  and  sometimes 
the  Guibelines,  gained  the  ascendency.  At  a  subsequent 
period,  these  names  lost  in  some  degree  their  original  signi- 
fication, and  the  struggle  between  the  parties  that  bore  them 
became  one  of  personal  or  municipal  ambition  amongst  the 
Italians  themselves.  In  the  course  of  events,  the  parties 
Bometimes  changed  characters ;  for  the  leaders  of  the  Guelphs, 
in  some  towns,  tyrannized  over  their  countrymen,  while  in 
some  instances,  as  at  Genoa,  the  Guibelines  really  formed 
the  popular  party. 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  167 

aristocracy.  Dante  attached  himself  to  the  latter 
party  —  in  consequence  of  which,  his  property  was 
confiscated,  and  he  was  driven  into  exile.  He  wan- 
dered for  many  years  from  place  to  place,  restless  and 
unhappy,  loathing  a  state  of  dependence,  yet  unable  to 
retrieve  his  fortune.  An  opportunity  of  returning  to 
Florence  was  offered,  but  upon  terms  which  he  deemed 
humiliating;  and, with  manly  fortitude,  he  chose  rather 
to  linger  in  poverty  and  banishment,  than  to  submit  to 
degradation.  He  continued  a  wanderer  till  the  year 
1321,  when  he  died  at  Ravenna. 

The  works  of  Dante  are  numerous,  and  occupy  five 
volumes  quarto.  The  most  celebrated,  however,  is 
that  which  has  acquired  the  title  of  the  Divina  Corn- 
media,  and  which  has  been  translated  into  almost  every 
language  of  Europe.  This  is  a  highly-wrought  alle- 
gorical poem,  in  which  the  author  gives  the  details  of 
an  imaginary  journey  which  he  made  through  the 
regions  of  heaven,  purgatory,  and  hell.  The  first 
scene  represents  him  as  having  wandered  from  the 
direct  track  in  the  journey  of  life,  when  at  length  he 
finds  himself  alone,  in  a  dark  and  savage  forest.  He 
knows  not  how  he  entered  it,  having  been  overwhelmed 
with  sleep.  He  arrives  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  whose 
summit  is  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun. 
He  begins  to  ascend  the  hill,  but  his  progress  is  op- 
posed by  a  spotted  panther,  a  fierce  lion,  and  a  hungry 
wolf.  He  draws  back  in  terror,  and  perceives  a  hu- 
man figure.  It  is  the  shade  of  Virgil,  who  had  always 
been  the  object  of  his  admiration.  Virgil  explains  to 
him  that,  by  the  desire  of  Beatrice,  he  has  left  the 
piucc  of  his  repose,  and  descended  to  earth,  for  the 


»68  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

purpose  of  guiding  liim  in  the  direct  path.  Then  the 
fear  of  the  poet  vanishes,  and  he  expresses  his  renewa. 
of  courage  in  tlie  beautiful  simile  — 

"  As  flowerets,  by  the  frosty  air  of  night 

Bent  down  and  closed,  when  day  has  blanched  their  leaves, 

Rise  .all  unfolded  on  their  spiry  stems,  — 

So  was  my  fainting  vigor  new-restored." 

Under  the  guidance  of  his  renowned  conductor,  the 
poet  is  ferried  over  the  Acheron  by  Chai'on,  —  who  has 
eyes  of  burning  coal,  —  and  at  length  reaches  the  infer- 
nal regions,  over  which  Minos  presides  ;  and  now  begins 
a  series  of  the  most  appalling  pictures  that  the  human 
imagination  has  ever  conceived.  Different  gradations 
of  horror,  and  degrees  of  torture,  are  depicted  in  such 
vivid  colors,  and  with  such  truth-like  lineaments,  that 
we  can  scarcely  smile  at  the  popular  belief  of  the 
Italians  that  Dante  actually  descended  into  hell,  and 
that  his  sallow  complexion,  and  his  crisp  beard,  were 
occasioned  by  his  having  ventured  too  near  the  fire. 

Proceeding  in  his  fearful  journey,  the  traveller,  at 
length,  reaches  purgatory,  a  region  of  pain  and  sorrow, 
yet  illuminated  by  hope.  The  terror  which  weighed 
down  our  spirits  in  the  regions  of  despair  now  ceases. 
The  pictures  assume  a  more  cheerful  character,  and 
their  coloring  becomes  more  brilliant.  The  poem  is 
now  enriched  by  glowing  descriptions,  mingled  with 
natural  and  pathetic  ideas.  The  soft  and  holy  music  ; 
the  angels,  with  their  brilliant  robes,  golden  hair,  and 
snow-white  wings ;  the  meeting  between  friends  who 
had,  on  earth,  known  and  loved  one  another,  and  who 
continue   to  take  a  deep   interest   in  the  affairs  of  a 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  169 

world  which  remains  vivid  in  the  memories  of  those 
who  have  not  yet  tasted  of  the  joys  of  paradise,  —  the 
whole  is  mingled  with  thoughts  so  just  and  philosoph- 
ical, and  with  so  profound  a  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  as  to  justify  the  epithet  of  divine  winch  has  heen 
bestowed  upon  the  work. 

When  the  visitors  have  passed  from  circle  to  circle, 
and  have  arrived  at  the  last  which  conducted  to  the  ter- 
restrial paradise,  the  angel  of  God  appears  before  them. 

" '  Blessed  are  the  pure 


In  heart,'  he  sang  •   then  near  him  as  we  came, 
'  Go  ye  not  farther,  holy  spirits  ! '  he  cried, 
'  Ere  the  fire  pierce  you ;  enter  in ;  and  list. 
Attentive,  to  the  song  ye  hear  from  thence.'  " 

When  the  poet  hesitates  to  enter  into  the  flames 
through  which  he  must  pass  before  reaching  paradise, 
Virgil  says,  — 

«' '  Mark  now,  my  son  ; 

From  Beatrice  thou  art  by  this  wall 
Divided  ! '  " 

At  the  name  of  Beatrice,  Dante  unresistingly  follows 
his  guide. 

The  terrestrial  paradise  is  the  emblem  of  prim- 
itive innocence,  or,  according  to  some  theologians,  the 
type  of  the  church.  The  description  of  the  young  and 
beautiful  Matilda,  singing  and  galliering  flowers  by  the 
side  of  the  limpid  waters,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
eternal  trees, — her  sweet  laugh,  brilliant  eyes,  and  me- 
lodious song,  —  is  a  beautiful  picture,  whatever  be  its 
allegorical  meaning. 

The  approach  of  Beatrice  is  announced  with  pomp 
XVII. — 15 


170  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

and  splendor.  The  whole  forest  becomes  brilliantly 
illuminated,  and  a  soft  melody  is  heard  through  the  air. 
The  symbolic  procession  which  follows  is  taken  from 
the  sacred  images  in  the  Old  Testament ;  and  the 
hymns,  partly  from  the  Psalms  of  David,  and  partly 
from  the  writings  of  Virgil. 

The  mysterious  chariot  which  contains  the  object  of 
the  poet's  deathless  adoration  is  surrounded  by  saints 
and  angels,  who  sing  in  holy  chant,  and  shower 
around  them  unwithering  lilies. 

"  I  have  beheld  ere  now,  at  break  of  day, 

The  eastern  clime  all  roseate,  and  the  sky 

Opposed,  one  deep  and  beautiful  serene  } 

And  the  sun's  face  so  shaded,  and  with  mists 

Attempered,  at  his  rising,  that  the  eye 

Long  while  endured  the  sight ;  thus,  in  a  cloud 

Of  flowers,  that  from  those  hands  angelic  rose, 

And  down  within,  and  outside  of  the  car. 

Fell  showering,  in  white  veil  with  olive  wreathed, 

A  virgin  in  my  view  appeared,  beneath 

Green  mantle,  robed  in  hue  of  living  flame ; 

And  o'er  my  spirit,  that  so  long  a  time 

Had  from  her  presence  felt  no  shuddering  dread, 

Albeit  mine  eyes  discerned  her  not,  there  moved 

A  hidden  virtue  from  her,  at  whose  touch 

The  power  of  ancient  love  was  strong  within  me." 

He  turns  towards  Virgil  to  express  his  awe  and  rap- 
ture ;  but  his  guide,  and  "  best  beloved  father,"  has  lef* 
him ;  and,  in  a  transport  of  mingled  feelings,  he  weeps 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  Beatrice  speaks  — 

"  Dante  !  weep  not  that  Virgil  leaves  thee  ;  nay, 
Weep  thou  not  yet ;  behoves  thee  feel  the  edge 
Of  other  sword,  and  thou  shalt  weep  for  that." 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  171 

The  only  human  interest  which  we  feel  after  enter- 
ing paradise  is  in  the  poet  himself.  We  cannot  sym- 
pathize in  the  perfect  happiness  of  those  glorious 
beings,  who  feel  neither  hope  nor  fear.  The  whole 
becomes  a  scene  of  splendor  and  beauty,  music  and 
light ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all  this  ethereal  glory  are 
theological  discussions  and  metaphysical  disquisitions, 
making  of  paradise  an  academic  school,  surrounded 
by  the  most  brilliant  and  magic  coloring. 

As  they  advance  in  their  aerial  journey,  Beatrice 
fixes  her  eager  gaze  on  the  sun,  and  the  poet  looks  in 
her  eyes,  until  their  brightness  grows  too  dazzling. 
They  hear  the  harmony  of  the  spheres,  and  the  astro- 
nomical system  is  explained  by  Beatrice.  They  visit 
Mercury,  Venus,  the  Sun,  Mars,  Jupiter ;  they  ascend 
to  Saturn,  on  a  golden  ladder  covered  with  stars  ;  and 
having  entered  the  constellation  Gemini,  the  poet  turns 
his  glance  towards  Earth,  and  smiles  at  its  pitiful 
semblance. 

Each  planet  is  inhabited  by  myriads  of  happy  souls  ; 
and  as  they  ascend  higher,  the  beauty  of  Beatrice  be- 
comes more  radiant,  until  it  is  as  difficult  to  gaze  upon 
her,  as  upon  the  stars  themselves. 

They  visit  the  garden,  where,  among  innumerable 
flowers  of  a  thousand  dyes,  blooms  the  mystic  Rose  in 
which  the  Word  became  flesh.  This  is  the  figure 
under  which  the  Catholic  poets  have  always  delighted 
to  speak  of  the  Holy  Virgin.  She  is  surrounded  by 
"  legions  of  splendors,"  amidst  melody  to  which  the 
sweetest  earthly  music  sounds  as  a  "  rent  cloud,  when 
it  grates  the  thunder."     The  whole  description  is  gor- 


17S  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

geous  in  design  and  coloring,  and  the  scene  terminates 
by  the  holy  legions  chanting  the  "  Regina  Cosli,''^ 

"  So  sweetly,  the  delight  hath  left  me  never." 

The  splendor  grows  fatiguing.  The  emblematical 
meaning  contained  in  the  descriptions  can  alone  give 
interest  to  the  enumeration  of  the  nine  choirs  of  angels, 
burning  eternally  with  divine  love,  —  of  the  seraphim 
and  cherubim,  —  the  dominions,  virtues,  and  powers, 
—  the  principalities  and  archangels.  Another  source  of 
interest  to  the  men  of  that  period  consists  in  the  poet's 
scholastic  discussions  on  the  divine  essence  and  nature 
of  angels  ;  in  the  discourse  of  St.  Peter,  in  which  he 
inveighs  against  the  corruption  of  the  church  of  Rome, 
and  in  the  satirical  reflections  upon  priests  and  priest- 
craft, —  which,  however,  seem  unworthy  of  souls  in  a 
state  of  holiness  and  bliss. 

In  the  ninth  circle,  all  is  light,  and  love,  and  joy.  A 
river  of  light  flows  through  the  centre,  bordered  with 
flowers  of  incredible  beauty.  From  the  river  issued 
brilliant  sparkles,  which  flew  amongst  the  flowers, 
where  they  seemed  like  "  rubies  chased  in  gold."  By 
the  desire  of  Beatrice,  Dante  drinks  of  this  water,  and 
his  eyes  being  opened,  he  sees  that  the  sparks  are 
angels,  and  the  flowers  mortals.  He  beholds,  in  a  vast 
circle  of  light,  more  than  a  million  of  thrones,  disposed 
lilie  the  leaves  of  a  rose,  where  sit  angels,  and  the 
souls  of  just  men  made  perfect.  An  innumerable  host 
of  celestial  beings,  with  faces  of  flame  and  wings  of 
gold,  float  over  the  Eternal  City.  Here  Beatrice  leaves 
him,  and  resumes  her  throne  of  light,  "  in  the  third 
circle  from  the  highest." 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  173 

The  poet's  next  guide  is  the  venerable  St.  Bernard, 
who,  in  a  beautiful  and  solemn  prayer,  supplicates  the 
Virgin  Mary  that  Dante  may  be  enabled  to  contem- 
plate the  brightness  of  the  Divine  Majesty.  The 
prayer  is  heard.  He  receives  a  glimpse  of  the  Great 
Mystery,  and  declares  his  inability  to  describe  what 
he  beholds.     Thus  terminates  the  wonderful  poem.* 

If  posthumous  fame  could  soothe  the  shades  of  depart- 
ed greatness,  the  stern  spirit  of  Dante  might  repose 
in  peace.  The  first  tribute  paid  to  his  memory  was 
by  Guido  ;  and  the  voice  of  friendship  pronounced  his 
funeral  oration.  Ravenna,  w-hich  received  the  stranger 
in  exile,  first  mourned  his  loss  and  hallowed  his 
remains. 

But  death  is  a  fire  which  purifies  the  true  gold  from 
the  extraneous  dross.  Florence  mourned,  when  too 
late,  her  ingratitude  towards  the  noblest  of  her  sons. 
His  fellow-citizens  humbled  themselves  before  the 
memory  of  the  illustrious  dead.  From  hatred,  they 
passed  to  admiration, —  from  admiration,  to  awe  and 
reverence.  Like  the  barbarians,  among  whom  St.  Paul 
sought  shelter  at  Melita,  after  denouncing  him  as  a 
criminal,  they  were  now  ready  to  worship  him  as 
a  god. 

Homer  retraced  the  heroic  ages  of  Greece  ;  Virgil, 
those  of  ancient  Italy  ;  Milton,  in  later  times,  chose  for 
his  theme  the  history  and  fate  of  the  original  parents 
of  mankind.  His  characters  were  angels  of  light 
and  darkness ;  a  man  in  his  primitive  state,  but  a  little 
lower  than  the  angels  themselves.     These  poets  were 

*  See  North  American  Review  for  1833,  p.  528. 
15* 


174  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

travellers  in  unknown  and  distant  regions,  who  were 
enabled  to  display  to  their  fellow-men  the  marvellous 
treasures  which  they  had  brought  from  an  unexplored 
land.  They  exhibited  to  their  countrymen  those  great 
names  which  are  hallowed  by  the  lapse  of  ages;  — 
heroes  whose  mighty  deeds  raised  them  to  the  rank  of 
gods ;  or  mortals  coeval  with  creation's  dawn,  with 
whom  the  celestial  spirits  deigned  to  hold  communion. 
It  was  not  so  with  the  gi'eat  Florentine.  His  char- 
acters were  those  of  his  own  period,  with  whose  history 
the  public  were  acquainted,  and  whose  families  and 
descendants  were  alive,  and  frequently  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  wealth  and  power.  But  the  position  in  which 
he  placed  them  threw  an  interest  around  their  story 
stronger  than  could  have  been  produced  by  the  ad- 
ventures of  any  individual,  however  illustrious,  of  a 
more  remote  date.  The  terror  and  pity,  and,  in  some 
cases,  the  vengeance,  of  the  Italians  were  awakened, 
when  the  shadowy  forms  of  their  contemporaries 
were  made  to  pass  in  review  before  them,  stripped  of 
those  external  advantages  which,  while  living,  had  ren- 
dered them  respected,  and  had  cast  a  veil  over  their 
crimes.  The  cruel  husband  shrank  from  the  picture 
of  his  murdered  wife,  herself  condemned  to  perdition, 
yet  prophesying  that  for  him  was  destined  the  lowest 
pit  in  hell.  The  son  beheld  his  father  plunged  in 
eternal  woe,  yet  continuing  to  feel  a  tender  interest  in 
his  welfare.  The  treacherous  assassin,  who  still  oc- 
cupied his  place  among  the  nobles  of  the  land,  trembled 
at  seeing  himself  represented  as  in  hell,  while,  accord- 
ing to  the  bold  supposition  of  the  poet,  a  demon  ani- 
mated his  body.     The  "  mighty  mantle  "  itself  was  no 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  175 

protection  to  the  wearer.  Pope  Nicholas  III.,  plunged 
headlong  in  the  flames,  was  represented  as  waiting  there 
for  the  aiTival  of  his  guilty  successors.  The  ttfect 
was  indescribable.  Some,  unable  to  endure  the  con- 
tempt of  their  countrymen,  condemned  themselves  to 
voluntary  exile ;  some,  struck  with  despair,  died  broken- 
hearted ;  and  others  fell  victims  to  the  private  ven- 
geance of  the  poet's  friends. 

Francesco  Petrarca,  a  name  that  is  associated  with  as 
many  tender  recollections  as  any  other  in  history,  was 
born  at  Arezzo,  in  1304.  He  was  educated  for  the 
bar ;  but  his  taste  for  elegant  literature  prevailed  over 
every  other  consideration,  and  he  devoted  himself  to 
the  study  of  the  classics,  and  the  composition  of  poetry. 

At  this  period,  the  pope  held  his  court  at  Avignon, 
in  France ;  and  here  were  assembled  the  gifted  and 
the  gay,  from  all  parts  of  Europe.  Taking  up  his 
residence  at  this  place,  and  assuming  the  clerical  dress, 
Petrarch  became,  at  twenty-two,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
sipated among  the  licentious  throng  that  fluttered  in 
the  blaze  of  the  pontifical  palace.  He  soon  niade 
friends  among  some  of  the  great  personages  at  Avignv>n, 
and  while  he  spent  much  time  in  pleasure,  he  ardently 
pursued  his  literary  studies. 

In  1327,  while  attending  service  in  the  church  of 
St.  Clair,  at  Avignon,  he  was  greatly  struck  with 
the  beauty  of  a  young  lady  near  him.  The  passion 
thus  suddenly  conceived  gave  a  new  turn  to  his 
thoughts,  and  while  it  seemed  to  master  his  whole 
existence,  it  became  the  occasion  of  that  celebrity  which 
has  ever  since  attended  his  name. 

Thfi  name  of  the  woman  who  thus  aflected  the  heart 


176  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

of  the  priest  was  Laura,  then  nineteen  years  of  age, 
and  married  two  years  before  to  Hugh  de  Sade.  She 
was  a  lady  of  superior  cliaracler ;  and  though  she  often 
met  her  ardent  admirer  in  society,  she  ever  preserved 
the  utmost  discretion  of  conduct.  When  Petrarch 
avowed  his  passion,  she  rebuked  him  sternly,  and 
avoided  his  presence  ;  but  when  he  was  taken  ill,  she 
visited  him  as  a  friend,  and  was  the  instrument  of 
giving  a  religious  bias  to  his  mind.  For  several  years, 
a  painful  struggle  was  maintained  between  his  passion 
and  his  sense  of  duty.  He  fixed  his  residence  at  Vau- 
cluse,  a  romantic  place  five  miles  from  Avignon,  where 
he  wrote  some  of  those  exquisite  sonnets  to  Laura, 
which  have  continued  to  charm  mankind  to  the  pres- 
ent day. 

Time  rolled  on ;  the  lovely  Laura  became  the  mother 
of  a  large  family,  and  her  beauty  faded  away  ;  but 
the  eye  of  Petrarch  only  saw  her  as  in  the  days  of  her 
youth.  In  1348,  while  he  was  in  Italy,  the  plague  was 
raging  in  France,  and  finally  reached  Avignon.  Laura 
was  seized  with  the  disease,  and  died.  Petrarch  heard 
the  tidings  with  incurable  regret,  and  from  that  time 
seemed  to  devote  himself  to  the  emulation  of  her  pious 
virtues.  He  continued  to  write  verses ;  but  the  object 
which  mspired  him  now  was  not  the  living  form  he 
had  loved,  but  the  sainted  spirit  with  which  his  own 
purified  soul  delighted  to  hold  communion.  The  depth 
of  his  feeling  may  be  imagined  from  the  fact  that, 
twenty  years  after  Laura's  death,  and  when  he  was 
himself  verging  toward  the  grave,  he  wrote  of  her,  in 
the  most  affecting  terms,  as  having  been  the  chief 
source  of  his  happiness  and  his  misery.     The  follow- 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  177 

ing  lines  will  serve  at  once  as  a  specimen  of  Petrarch's 
sonnets,  and  an  indication  of  that  depth  of  feeling  to 
which  wo  have  alkided :  — 

"The  eyes' 1  praised  so  warmly,  and  the  face, 

And  arms,  and  hands,  and  feet,  whose  beauty  drew 

My  spirit  from  myself,  at  their  sweet  view, 
And  made  me  strange  among  my  fellow  race  ; 
Those  crisptd  locks  that  shone  with  golden  grace, 

Tir  angelic  mirth  that,  with  enchanting  glow. 

Was  wont  to  make  a  paradise  below. 
Fill  now  —  unconscious  dust —  their  narrow  space. 
And  yet  1  live  ;  O,  life  too  hardly  borne  I 

'Reft  of  the  light  1  loved  so  well  and  long. 
My  weary  bark  in  stormy  seas  is  torn. 

Be  here  an  end  of  all  my  amorous  song  : 
My  vein  of  inspiration  is  out-worn. 

And  nought  around  my  lyre  but  notes  of  anguish  throng." 

Petrarch  died  at  Arqua,  July  17,  1373.  Tliough  he 
is  chiefly  known  as  the  lover  and  poetical  eulogist  of 
Laura,  he  has  other  claims  to  remembrance.  He  was 
an  active  laborer  in  the  field  of  literature,  and  may  be 
considered  as  one  of  the  chief  instruments  of  promot- 
ing the  dawn  of  learning,  which  had  then  commenced 
in  Etu'ope.  He  was  an  extensive  traveller,  and  an 
able  writer  on  a  great  variety  of  subjects.  His  friend- 
ships were  sincere,  and  his  political  views  liberal.  He 
exercised  a  most  extraordinary  influence  over  the  great 
men  of  his  day ;  and  he  may  be  justly  regarded,  not 
only  as  an  honor  to  his  country,  but  a  benefactor  of 
mankind. 

Giovanni  Boccaccio,  the  friend  of  Petrarch,  and  who 
shares  with  him  the  honor  of  having  given  a  powerful 
impulse  to  the  rising  literature  of  Italy,  was  born  in  the 

L 


178  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

territory  of  Florence,  in  1313.  He  was  trained  for 
mercantile  pursuits  ;  but  lie  had  a  literary  turn,  and, 
going  to  Naples,  he  wrote  tales  and  poetry  under  the 
patronage  of  King  Robert.  He  became  enamored  of 
the  king's  daughter,  Mary,  who  returned  his  affection; 
and,  to  please  her,  he  wrote  II  Filocopo,  the  first 
Italian  romance  in  prose.  He  produced  several 
works  in  succession  ;  and,  finally,  his  Decamerone,  or 
Hundred  Tales  —  a  work  full  of  humor,  but  marked  by 
gross  licentiousness. 

Boccaccio  received  a  comfortable  patrimony  at  the 
death  of  his  father ;  and  while  he  enjoyed  high  repu- 
tation as  an  author,  he  was  also  employed  for  a  time 
in  public  affairs.  In  1361,  having  led  a  licentious  life, 
he  was  informed  that  a  friar,  on  his  death-bed,  had  fore- 
told his  speedy  dissolution,  and  had  besought  some  one 
to  enjoin  upon  him  immediate  reformation.  Deeming 
this  a  divine  intimation,  he  betook  himself  to  the 
reading  of  the  Scriptures,  and  afterwards,  his  life  was 
marked  with  religious  sanctity.  He  died  at  Cer- 
taldo,  1370. 

In  the  hasty  sketch  which  we  are  here  attempting, 
we  can  do  little  more  than  mention  the  great  names  in 
which  the  history  of  Italian  literature  abounds.  Ludo- 
vico  Ariosto,  the  author  of  the  renowned  Orlando  Furi- 
oso,  was  born  at  Reggio,  in  1474,  and  his  life  exhibits  an 
extraordinary  series  of  vicissitudes. — Nicholas  Ma- 
chiavel,  whose  name  has  become  significant  of  artifice 
and  duplicity,  was  born  at  Florence,  in  1469.  He 
successively  filled  many  important  offices ;  but  being 
out  of  favor,  he  retired  to  his  country  seat,  where  he 
wrote   his   celebrated   work  entitled   the   Prince.      In 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  179 

this  he  points  out  the  policy  to  be  pursued  by  a  mon- 
arch who  aims  at  the  aggrandizement  of  his  throne, 
regardless  of  truth,  honor,  or  justice.  The  work  shows 
a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  intrigues  and  corrup- 
tions of  courts,  and  the  arts  of  unprincipled  politicians, 
and  seems  to  recommend  their  adoption  without  scruple. 
There  has  been  much  dispute  as  to  the  real  purpose 
of  the  author ;  but  by  the  discovery,  in  1810,  of  a  let- 
ter written  by  Machiavel,  it  appears  that  the  book  was 
not  intended  for  publication,  but  for  the  private  perusal 
of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  Duke  d'Urbino,  to  show  tbat 
prince  that  he  possessed  sagacity  which  might  make 
him  useful,  and  thus  to  pave  the  way  for  his  restoration 
to  favor  and  place.  Machiavel  wrote  several  his- 
torical works,  and  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  great 
authors  of  his  time.     He  died  at  Florence,  in  1527. 

Torqnato  Tasso  was  born  at  Sorrento,  in  Naples,  in 
1544.  He  displayed  wonderful  precocity,  in  evidence 
of  which  we  are  told,  that  at  the  age  of  seven,  he  made 
public  orations ;  and  at  nine,  wrote  a  poem  still  extant, 
which  shows  no  evidence  of  juvenility.  At  the  latter 
age,  be  was  deemed  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  in- 
cluded in  his  father's  sentence  of  banishment,  imposed 
by  the  emperor  Charles  11. 

He  now  devoted  himself  to  poetry,  and,  at  eighteen, 
published  his  Rinaldo ;  not  long  after,  he  commenced 
his  Jerusalem  Delivered,  the  first  complete  edition  of 
which,  however,  did  not  appear  till  1575.  From  this 
latter  period  he  led  an  unsettled  life,  roamuig  from 
place  to  place,  oppressed  by  melancholy,  and  some- 
times reduced  even  to  rags.  At  last  he  was  imprisoned 
by  the  Duke  of  Mantua,  at  Ferrara,  under  the  assump- 


180  ITALIAN     LITEKATUKE. 

tion  that  he  was  insane  ;  and  though  his  liberation  was 
earnestly  sought  by  many  of  the  princes  of  Italy,  he 
was  kept  in  confinement  for  seven  years.  At  the  expi- 
ration of  that  period,  he  was  liberated,  and  his  fame  as 
a  poet  became  soon  established.  In  1594,  he  complied 
with  a  request  of  Cardinal  Cynthio,  to  receive  the 
ceremony  of  the  laurel  crown,  at  Rome  —  at  that 
period  esteemed  one  of  the  greatest  honors  that  could 
be  bestowed.  For  this  purpose,  the  poet  repaired  to 
the  metropolis ;  but  he  was  seized  with  sudden  illness 
and,  the  night  before  the  appointed  ceremony,  he  died. 
April  25,  1595. 

In  person  Tasso  was  tall,  and  his  face,  though  pale 
and  thoughtful,  was  remarkably  handsome.  He  was 
distinguished  for  his  personal  activity,  and  he  displayed, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  a  high  degree  of  chival- 
rous courage.  His  learning  was  great,  and  his  historical 
poems  rank  him  among  the  gifted  sons  of  genius. 
His  Jerusalem  Delivered,  v.'hich  details  the  exploits  of 
the  crusaders,  under  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  is  a  noble 
work,  and  is  placed  with  the  epics  of  Homer,  Virgil, 
and  Milton. 

From  this  period,  the  authors  of  Italy  crowd  upon 
the  attention,  and  seem  at  once  to  fill  and  adorn  every 
path  of  literature.  It  is  not  possible  even  to  recite  the 
great  names  which  are  enrolled  on  the  pages  of  fame, 
and  which  bring  us  down  to  the  era  of  the  French  con- 
quest of  Italy,  in  1796.  This  event  sei*ved,  for  a  time, 
to  introduce  the  French  language  into  use  ;  and  thus 
the  Italian  became  corrupted  by  the  infusion  of  a  mul- 
titude of  French  idioms.  This  debased  dialect  found 
its  way  into  the   newspapers,  essays,  pleadings,  and 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE.  181 

public  acts,  of  the  day.  The  torrent  was  opposed  by 
the  historian  Botta,  —  among  whose  productions  is  an 
excellent  history  of  the  United  States,  —  and  by  several 
eminent  writers;  and  finally  the  language  was  purified, 
and  a  just  taste  restored.  The  recent  literary  produc- 
tions of  Italy  are  numerous  and  varied,  and  many  arc  of 
a  high  character.  The  journals,  literary  and  political, 
—  of  which  hardly  a  dozen  existed  forty  years  ago, — 
have  increased  to  about  200,  embracing  every  branch 
of  literature,  art,  and  science.  The  statistics  of  every 
state,  including  an  account  of  the  condition  of  education, 
legislation,  industry,  commerce,  &c.,  are  published, 
thus  showing  an  immense  advance  in  the  march  of 
civilization.  The  colleges  and  schools  of  Italy,  as  well 
literary  as  scientific,  are  numerous,  and  many  of  them 
are  of  a  high  order.  The  provisions  for  the  education 
of  ecclesiastics  are  ample,  and  will  serve  to  account  for 
the  great  learning  professed  by  many  of  tho  ( atholic 
clergy,  who  are  sent  forth  to  different  parts  of  the 
world. 


WII. 1() 


SPANISH  LITERATURE. 


The  Arabs,  as  we  have  elsewhere  remarked,  carried 
learning  and  the  arts  to  a  degree  of  cultivation  far 
beyond  any  thing  known  in  the  Christian  parts  of  Spain. 
Before  the  era  of  Mahomet,  their  language  had  been 
cultivated,  and  adapted  to  poetry  and  eloquence,  ac- 
cording to  the  laws  of  Oriental  taste.  In  Spain,  it 
soon  acquired,  even  among  the  conquered  Christians, 
a  superiority  over  th§  barbarous  Romaic,  or  dialect 
of  the  country,  which  was  then  governed  by  no  rules ; 
for  in  the  eighth  century,  when  the  Moors  penetrated 
into  Spain,  the  Visigoths,  who  had  been  masters  of  the 
territory  since  the  fifth  century,  were  not  yet  com- 
pletely intermixed  by  matrimonial  alliances  with  the 
Provincials,  or  descendants  of  the  Roman  subjects  : 
and  the  new  national  language,  which  had  grown  out 
of  a  corrupt  Latin,  was  still  the  sport  of  accident. 
The  conquered  Christians,  in  the  provinces  under 
Moorish  dominion,  soon  forgot  their  Romaic.  They 
became,  indeed,  so  habituated  to  the  Arabic,  that,  in  the 
ninth  century,  scarcely  one  out  of  a  thousand  knew 
any  other  language. 

But  the  Christians  who  had  preserved  their  inde- 
pendence, descending  from  the  mountains  of  the  As- 
turias,  began  to  repel  the  invaders ;  and  in  proportion 


SPANISH   LITERATURE.  183 

as  they  extended  their  conquests,  a  wider  field  was 
opened  for  the  Spanish  tongue.  It  remained,  never- 
theless, for  a  long  time  barren  and  rude,  and  was  des- 
tined to  receive  many  additions  from  the  rich  and 
elegant  Arabic,  before  it  attained  the  copiousness 
requisite  for  the  wants  even  of  common  life.  The 
energetic  development  of  literary  talent  among  the 
Christians,  the  bold,  romantic  character  of  that  people, 
and  their  ardent  spirit  of  national  pride,  soon  banished 
the  ancient  dialects  of  Arragon,  Catalonia,  Valencia, 
and  Murcia,  from  literature,  law,  and  the  conversation 
of  the  superior  classes  of  society.  Finally,  towards 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Castilian  be- 
came, in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word,  the  reigning 
language  of  the  whole  Spanish  monarchy. 

The  Spanish  and  Italian,  possessing  a  common  ori- 
gin, yet  differ  in  a  very  striking  manner.  The  syllables 
lost  in  the  contraction  of  words,  and  those  retained,  are 
by  no  means  the  same  in  both  :  so  that  many  words, 
derived  in  each  tongue  from  the  Latin,  have  little  re- 
semblance to  one  another.  The  Spanish,  more  sono- 
rous, and  more  full  of  aspirates  and  accents,  has  some- 
thing in  it  more  dignified,  firm,  and  imposing ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  having  been  less  cultivated  by 
philosophical  writers  and  orators,  it  possesses  less  flex- 
ibility and  precision.  In  its  grandeur,  it  is  occasionally 
obscure,  and  its  pomp  is  not  exempt  from  turgidity  ; 
but  in  consequence  of  its  clear,  swelling  sounds,  and 
the  beautiful  articulation  of  its  syllables,  it  has  more 
affinity  to  the  Italian  than  any  other  idium  of  the  Pen- 
insula. 

The  old   Castilian,  Portuguese,  and  Galician  poetry 


184  SPANISH   LITERATURE. 

was,  under  its  own  peculiar  forms,  still  more  popular, 
and  strictly  national,  than  even  the  Provenfal,  of  which 
we  have  elsewhere  given  a  history.*  It  was  not  destined 
to  be  recited  in  courtly  circles,  before  lords  and  ladies. 
It  arose  amidst  the  clang  of  arms,  and  was  fostered  by 
constantly  reiterated  relations  of  warlike  feats,  and 
love  adventures,  transmitted  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
So  common  was  the  practice,  among  all  ranks,  of 
composing  in  verse,  that  the  historian  Faria  y  Sousa 
thought  himself,  at  a  late  period,  justified  in  calling 
every  mountain  in  his  country  a  Parnassus,  and  every 
fountain  a  Hippocrene.  The  poems  called  romances 
in  Spanish,  which  in  English  we  call  ballads,  took 
their  appellation  from  the  national  language. 

The  origin  of  Castilian  poetry  is  lost  in  the  ob- 
scurity of  the  middle  ages.  The  poetic  spirit  which 
then  awoke  in  the  north  of  Spain,  doubtless  first  man- 
ifested itself  in  ballads  and  popular  songs.  Of  the  an- 
cient poems  relating  to  the  Cid,  we  have  already  spoken. 
t  Our  notice  is  next  attracted  by  Alphonso  X.,  named  the 
Wise.  This  king  of  Castile  was  a  very  extraordinary 
man  for  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  was  ambitious, 
among  other  distinctions,  of  being  a  poet.  Scarcely 
any  ballad  or  song,  of  true  poetic  feeling,  can  be  at- 
tributed to  him ;  but  he  loved  to  imbody  his  science 
and  learning  in  verse.  Alchemy  was  his  favorite 
study ;  and  if  his  assertions  in  verse  may  be  trusted,  he 
several  times  made  gold.  His  versification  is  har- 
monious, and  ingeniously  constructed ;  but  it  is  not  on 

*  See  chapter  on  the  Troubadours,  in  Lights  and  Shadows 
of  European  History. 

t  See  Curiosities  of  Human  jXature. 


SPANISH    LITERATURE.  185 

account  of  his  rhymes  that  Alphonso  deserves  to  be 
placed  at  the  head  of  the  Castihan  poets.  He  claims 
that  rank  from  the  attention  which  he  devoted  to  the 
cultivation  of  tiie  language,  and  which  enabled  the  poetic 
genius  of  the  nation  to  unfold  itself  with  increasing 
vigor  and  freedom.  The  Bible  was,  by  his  command, 
rendered  into  Castilian,  and  a  paraphrase  of  Scripture 
history  accompanied  the  translation.  A  General 
Chronicle  of  Spain,  and  a  Histoiy  of  the  Holy  Land, 
were  also  written  by  his  order.  Finally,  he  introduced 
the  national  language  into  legal  and  judicial  proceed- 
ings. 

The  history  of  Spanish  poetry  continues  barren  of 
names  until  towards  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century  ; 
and  yet,  in  all  probability,  the  greater  part  of  the 
ancient  Castilian  ballads  were  composed  at  a  much 
earlier  period.  One  Nicolas,  and  an  abbot  named 
Antonio,  are  mentioned  as  celebrated  writers  of  ballads 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  anterior  to  the  reign  of 
Alphonso.  But  until  the  invention  of  printing,  no 
regard  was  paid  by  the  learned,  or  by  those  who 
wished  to  be  thought  learned,  to  popular  ballads ;  and 
when  the  attention  of  men  of  letters  began  to  be  di- 
rected to  the  old  popular  poetry,  the  authors  were 
either  forgotten,  or  no  trouble  was  taken  to  preserve 
or  recover  their  names.  The  latter  half  of  the  four- 
teenth century  is  the  period  when  the  history  of  the 
Spanish  ballads  and  songs  begins  to  acquire  some 
degree  of  certainty.  Tiic  Spaniards,  in  constant  con- 
flict with  the  Moors,  and  familiar  with  Oriental  manners 
and  writings,  felt  the  proper  distinction  between  poetry 
and  prose  less  readily  than  most  other  people.  Pop- 
16* 


186  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

ular  songs  of  every  kind  were  probably  indigenous  in 
the  Peninsula.  The  patriotic  Spaniards,  like  many 
other  ancient  nations,  were  fond  of  preserving  the 
memory  of  remarkable  events  in  ballads.  They  also 
began  at  a  very  early  period  to  record  their  public 
transactions  in  prose.  As  the  giving  to  an  accredited 
fact  a  poetical  dress,  in  a  song  for  the  guitar,  was 
thought  not  inconsistent  with  the  spirit  of  genuine 
national  history,  still  less  could  the  relating  of  a  fab- 
ricated story,  as  a  real  event  in  history,  seem  hostile 
to  the  spirit  of  poetry.  Thus  the  historical  romance 
in  verse,  and  the  chivalric  romance  in  prose,  derived 
their  origin  from  the  confounding  of  the  limits  of  epic 
and  historical  composition.  The  histoiy  of  Spanish 
poetical  romance  is  therefore  intimately  interwoven 
with  the  history  of  the  prose  chivalric  romance ;  and 
here  we  must  dwell  for  a  moment  upon  that  celebrated 
work  which  was  so  great  a  favorite  with  Don  Quixote. 
Whoever  was  the  author  of  Amadis  de  Gaul,  his 
genius  lives  in  his  invention.  This  volume  soon  threw 
into  obscurity  all  the  other  tales  of  knight-errantry,  in 
Latin  and  French,  by  many  of  which  it  had  been  pre- 
ceded. The  author  of  this  delightful  fiction  was  for  a 
long  time  unknown ;  but,  from  very  careful  investiga- 
tions made  by  Spanish  and  Portuguese  scholars,  it  now 
appears  that  the  author  of  the  genuine  Amadis  was 
Vasco  Lobeira,  a  native  of  Portugal,  who  flourished 
about  the  year  1300.  It  is  probable  that,  before  it 
attained  to  its  highest  celebrity  in  Spain  and  France,  it 
passed  through  the  hands  of  several  emendators  ;  and  it 
is  therefore  impossible  now  to  know  how  much  of  the 
book  belongs  to  the  origmal  author.     Its  influence  upon 


SPANISH    LITERATURE.  187 

Spanish  literature  was  prodigious,  as  it  operated  with 
all  the  force  of  novelty  precisely  at  the  time  when  the 
poetic  genius  of  the  nation  began  to  display  itself  in 
youthful  vigor.  The  monstrous  perversions  of  history 
and  geography  in  that  work  did  not  disturb  the  illu- 
sions of  readers  who  knew  little  or  nothing  of  history 
or  geography.  The  proli.xity  of  the  narrative  gave  as 
little  offence  as  the  stiff  formality  of  the  style.  Indeed, 
the  virtues  of  Gothic  chivalry  appear  more  pure  as  they 
shine  through  the  formal  statelincss  of  the  narrative. 
The  author  has  borrowed  nothing  from  the  Arabian 
tale-tellers,  except  the  attraction  of  fairy  machinery. 
This  was,  however,  a  powerful  charm,  and  gave  an 
epic  coloring  to  the  Amadis,  which,  joined  to  the  pa- 
thetic descriptions  of  romantic  heroism,  produced  an 
influence  over  the  imagination  and  feelings  of  the  age 
which  no  former  work  had  possessed.  Love,  also,  was 
painted  with  an  excess  of  devotion  and  of  voluptuous 
tenderness ;  yet  so  submissive,  so  constant,  and  so  re- 
ligious, that  it  seemed  almost  a  virtue. 

The  celebrity  of  the  Amadis  de  Gaul,  and  its  numer- 
ous imitations,  gave  to  the  national  poetry  of  Spain  a 
very  animated  and  chivalric  character.  The  spirit  of 
these  popular  works  passed  to  the  ballads,  which  were 
equally  popular ;  and  thus  originated  those  poetical 
tales  for  which  the  Spaniards  are  so  eminently  dis- 
tinguished. In  most  of  these  compositions  we  may 
remark  a  touching  simplicity  of  expression,  a  truth  of 
painting,  and  an  exquisite  sensibility,  which  invest 
them  with  the  highest  charms.  Some  of  them  are 
still  more  distinguished  by  the  powers  of  invention 
which  they  display.     When  this  is  the  case,  they  form 


188  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

little  chivalric  romances,  the  effect  of  which  is  lively 
and  impressive  in  proportion  to  the  brevity  of  the  poem. 
The  weakest  memory  was  able  to  retain  these  poems. 
They  were  sung  by  the  soldiers  on  their  march,  by  the 
rustics  in  their  daily  labors,  and  by  the  women  during 
their  domestic  occupations.  These  antique  and  artless 
effusions  of  a  pregnant  poetic  imagination,  scarcely 
conscious  of  its  own  productive  power,  are  the  genuine 
offspring  of  nature.  To  recount  their  defects  would  be 
as  superfluous,  as  it  would  be  impossible,  by  any  criti- 
cal study,  to  imitate  a  single  trait  of  that  noble  simpli- 
city which  constitutes  their  highest  charm. 

It  will  be  sufficient  to  cite,  in  support  of  this  opin- 
ion, the  ballad  of  Count  Alarcos,  which  is,  beside,  dis- 
tinguished from  most  of  the  others  by  a  greater  rich- 
ness of  composition.  It  opens,  in  a  veiy  simple  manner, 
with  a  description  of  the  sorrows  of  the  infanta  Solesa, 
who,  after  having  been  secretly  betrothed  to  Count 
Alarcos,  has  been  abandoned  by  him. 

"  The  fair  infanta,  midst  the  court, 

A  look  of  sorrow  wears  ; 
Told  by  an  aching  heart  how  she 

Is  doomed  to  pass  her  years. 
Her  earl}'  bloom  of  life  has  flown, 

And  left  her  nought  but  tears." 

At  length,  after  Count  Alarcos  has  been  long  married 
to  another,  the  forsaken  princess  discloses  her  seduc- 
tion to  her  father.  This  scene  is  strongly  painted,  but 
not  overcharged ;  the  king  is  transported  by  rage 
and  indignation  ;  his  honor  appears  to  him  so  deeply 
wounded,  that  nothing  but  the  death  of  the  countess 
can  be  an  adequate  satisfaction.     He  has  an  interview 


SPANISH   LITERATURE,  189 

with  the  count,  addresses  him  courteously,  represents 
the  case  to  him  with  chivalrous  dignity,  as  a  point  of 
justice  and  honor,  and  concludes  by  peremptorily  de- 
manding that  he  shall  put  his  lady  to  death.  Thus  the 
development  of  the  story  commences  in  a  manner 
which,  though  most  singular,  is  not  unnatural,  when  the 
ideas  of  that  age  are  considered.  The  count  conceives 
himself  bound,  as  a  man  of  honor,  to  obey,  and  proceeds 
homeward.  There  is  a  touching  simplicity  in  the  pic- 
ture which  is  here  drawn  :  — 

"Weeping,  he  homeward  wends  liis  way  ; 

Nought  can  his  grief  remove  ; 
And  many  a  tear  he  siicds  for  her 

He  more  tlian  life  dotli  love. 
He  weepeth  too  for  his  three  sons, 

in  youth  and  beauty  dear  : 
The  youngest  boy,  a  suckling  still, 

The  countess'  self  doth  rear  ; 
For,  save  his  mother,  none  he  loved, 

Thougli  he  had  nurses  three  ; 
Nor  by  the  milk  of  other  breasts 

Would  alimented  be." 

The  pathos  now  rises  to  the  highest  pitch  of  tragic 
horror.  The  countess,  who  receives  her  husband  with 
her  wonted  marks  of  atfection,  in  vain  inquires  the 
cause  of  his  melancholy.  He  sits  down  to  supper  with 
his  family,  and  again  we  have  a  scene  painted  with 
genuine  feeling,  though  with  little  art :  — 

"  The  board  is  spread  ;  he  takes  his  place 

Where  viands  tempt  in  vain  ; 
For  near  him  liis  loved  children  are, 

Now  loved,  alas  !  with  pain. 


190  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

In  seeming  sleep,  with  head  reclined, 

He  tries  to  hide  his  woe  ; 
But  from  his  eyes  tlie  big  tears  roll, 

And  o'er  the  table  flow." 

The  apparent  fatigue  of  the  count  induces  the  count- 
ess to  accompany  him  to  his  apartment.  When  they 
enter,  he  fastens  the  door,  relates  what  has  passed,  and 
desires  her  to  prepare  for  death.  She  begs  him  to 
spare  her  for  her  children's  sake.  The  count  only 
desires  her  to  embrace,  for  the  last  time,  the  youngest, 
whom  she  holds  asleep  in  her  arms. 

"  '  Give  to  that  babe  one  parting  kiss. 
That  babe  for  whom  thou'rt  lost.  — 

Full  heavy  is  my  heart  for  thee  ; 
'Tis  I  need  pity  most !  '  " 

She  submits  to  her  hard  fate,  and  only  begs  for  time 
to  say  an  Ave  Maria.  The  count  desires  her  to  be 
brief.  She  falls  on  her  knees,  and  pours  forth  a  quick 
and  fervent  prayer ;  and  then  requests  a  moment's  fur- 
ther delay,  that  she  may  once  more  give  suck  to  her  infant 
son.  What  modern  poet  would  have  thought  of  intro- 
ducing so  simple  and  exquisite  a  touch  of  nature  ? 
The  count  forbids  her  to  wake  the  child  ;  and  the  unfor- 
tunate lady  is  strangled,  forgiving  her  husband,  and 
predicting  that,  within  thirty  days,  the  king  and  his 
daughter  will  be  summoned  before  the  tribunal  of  the 
Almighty.  Both  they  and  the  count  die  within  the 
prescribed  time. 

The  ballads  founded  upon  the  history  of  the  Moors 
appear  to  be  greater  in  number  than  those  derived 
from  events  in  Spanish  history  ;  and  this  abundance 
might  well  excite  as  much  astonishment  in  the  critic  as 


SPANISH    LITEKATURE.  191 

it  has  given  offence  to  some  orthodox  Spaniards.  But 
even  the  old  Castilians  found  a  certain  poetic  charm  in 
the  Oriental  manners  of  the  INIoors.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  European  chivalry,  so  far  as  it  was  adopted 
by  the  Moors,  became  more  imposing  from  its  union 
with  Oriental  luxury,  which  favored  the  display  of 
splendid  armor,  waving  plumes,  and  emblematical  or- 
naments of  every  kind.  The  Christian  warriors,  it  also 
appears,  had  sufficient  generosity  to  allow  justice  to  be 
done  to  the  distinguished  leaders  of  their  enemies,  who 
are  described  in  an  old  ballad  as  gentlemen,  though  in- 
fidels. All  these  poems,  whether  of  Moorish  or  Span- 
ish history,  present  nearly  the  same  unsophisticated 
character,  and  the  same  artless  style  of  composition. 
The  subject  is  generally  founded  on  a  single  fact. 
Thus  Roderick,  the  last  Gothic  king  of  Spain,  takes 
flight  after  his  total  overthrow,  and  bewails  his  own 
and  his  country's  fate. 

"  The  hosts  of  Don  Rodrigo  were  scattered  in  dismay, 
When  lost  was  the  eighth  battle ;  nor  heart,  nor  hope,  had 

they  ; 
He,  when  he  saw  that  field  was  lost,  and  all  his  hope  was 

flown. 
He  turned  him  from  his  flying  host,  and  took  his  way  alone. 

His  horse   was  bleeding,  tired,  and  lame  ;   he  could  no  far- 

tlier  go ; 
Dismounted,  witiiout  patli  or  aim,  the  king  stepped  to  and  fro. 
It  was  a  sight  of  pity  to  look  on  Roderick, 
For  sore  atliirst  and  hungry,  he  staggered,  faint  and  sick. 

All  stained   and   strown   with  (hist  and   blood,  like   to   some 

smouldering  brand 
Plucked  from  the  flame,  Rodrigo  showed  :  his  sword  was  in 

his  hand ; 


192  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

But  it  was  hacked  into  a  saw  of  dark  and  purple  tint ; 

His  jewelled  mail  had  many  a  flaw,  his  helmet  many  a  dint. 

He  climbed  upon  a  hill-top,  the  highest  he  could  see, 
And  all  about  of  that  wide  route,  his  last  long  look  took  he. 
He  saw  his  ro3-al  banners  where  they  lay  drenched  and  torn  ; 
He  heard  the  cry  of  victory,  the  Arab's  shout  of  scorn. 

He  looked  for  his  brave  captains  who  led  the  hosts  of  Spain, 
But  all  were  fled,  except  the  dead;  —  and  who  could  count 

the  slain  t 
Where'er  his  eye  could  wander,  all  bloody  was  the  plain, 
And  while  thus  he  said,  the  tears  he  shed  ran  down  his 

cheeks  like  rain. 

»  Last  night  1   was  the  king  of  Spain  :  —  to-night  no  king 

am  I ! 
Last  night  fair  castles  held  my  train  :  —  to-night  where  shall 

1  lie .? 
Last  night  a  hundred  pages  did  serve  me  on  the  knee  ; 
To-night  not  one  I  call  mj'  own,  —  not  one  pertains  to  me. 

O,  luckless,  luckless  was  the  hour,  and  cursed  was  the  day. 
When  I  was  born  to  have  the  power  of  this  great  seigniory. 
Unhappy  me,  that  I  should  see  the  sun  go  down  to-night : 
O  death  !  why  now  so  slow  art  thou  ?  —  why  fearest  thou  to 
smite  .^ '  " 

We  shall  add  to  our  extracts  from  the  ballads,  that 
of  La  Nina  Morena,  describing  the  fears  of  a  country- 
maiden  who  had  dropped  her  lover's  present  into  the 
well. 

" '  My  ear-rings  !  my  ear-rings  !   They've  dropped  into  the 

well. 
And  what  to  say  to  Mu^a,  I  cannot,  cannot  tell ! ' 
—  Thus  by  Granada's  fountain  spoke  Albaharez'  daughter  : 
'  The  well  is  deep  ;  far  down  they  lie,  beneath  the  cold,  blue 

water ! 


SPANISH    LITERATURE.  193 

To  mc  did  Mura  give  them  when  he  spoke  his  sad  farewell, 
And  what  to  say,  when  he  comes  back,  I  cannot,  cannot  tell. 

* 
My  ear-rings  !  my  ear-rings !  They  were  pearls  in  silver  set, 
That,  when  my  Moor  was  far  away,  I  ne'er  should  him 

forget ; 
Tliat  1  ne'er  to  other's  tongue  should  list,  nor  smile  at  other's 

tale. 
But  remember  he  my  lips  had  kissed,  pure  as  those  ear-rings 

pale. 
"When  he  comes  back,  and  hears  that  I  have  dropped  them  in 

the  well, 
O  what  will  Muqa  think  of  me  ?  —  I  cannot,  cannot  tell  I 

My  ear-rings !  my  ear-rings !     He'll  say  they  should  have 

been 
Not  of  pearl  and  of  silver,  but  of  gold  and  glittering  sheen ; 
Of  jasper,  and  of  onyx,  and  of  diamond  shining  clear. 
Changing  to  the  changing  light  with  radiance  insincere  ; 
That  changeful  mind  unchanging  gems  are    not  befitting 

well ; 
Thus  will  he  thmk ;  and  what  to  say  I  cannot,  cannot  tell. 

He'll  think,  when  I  to  market  went,  1  loitered  by  the  way ; 
He'll  think  a  willing  oar  1  lent  to  all  the  lads  might  say  : 
He'll  think  some  other  lover's  hand,  among  my  tresses  noosed, 
From  the  ears  where  he  had  placed  them,  my  rings  of  pearl 

unloosed. 
He'll  think,  when  I  was  sporting  so  beside  this  marble  well, 
My  pearls  fell  in ;  and  what  to  say  1  cannot,  cannot  tell. 

He'll  say  I  am  a  woman,  and  we  are  all  the  same  ; 
He'll  say  I  loved,  when  he  was  here,  to  whisper  of  his  flame; 
But  when  he  went  to  Tunis,  my  virgin  troth  was  broken, 
And  1  tliought  no  more  of  Mucja,  and  cared  not  for  his  token 
My  car-rings  !  my  car-rings  !  —  O  luckless,  luckless  well ! 
For  what  to  say  tn  Mu(ja,  alas  !   1  cannot  tell. 
M  XVII.— 17 


194  SPANISH   LITERATURE. 

I'll  tell  the  truth  to  Mu<;a,  and  I  hope  he  will  believe 

That  I   thought  of  him  at  morning,   and  thought  of  him 

at  eve  :  ' 

That  musing  on  my  lover,  when  down  the  sun  was  gone, 
His  ear-rings  in  my  hand  1  held,  by  the  fountain  all  alone  ; 
And  that  my  mind  was  o'er  the  sea,  when  from  my  hand 

they  fell. 
And  deep  his  love  lies  in  my  heart,  as  they  lie  in  the  well.' " 

Among  the  attempts  at  epic  poetiy,  the  Araucana 
of  Don  Alonzo  de  Ercilla  deserves  to  be  mentioned. 
He  was  a  soldier  in  the  Spanish  army,  and  served 
in  the  campaign  against  the  Araucanian  Indians,  of 
Chili.  In  the  midst  of  his  exploits,  he  conceived,  with 
youthful  ambition,  the  plan  of  writing  a  narrative  of 
the  conquest  of  Arauco,  in  an  epic  form,  but  with  the 
strictest  regard  to  historical  truth.  He  executed  his 
project  in  spite  of  the  dangers  which  surrounded  him, 
and  the  hardships  which  he  was  compelled  to  undergo. 
In  a  wilderness  inhabited  by  savages,  in  the  midst  of 
enemies,  and  under  no  other  cover  than  that  of  heaven, 
he  composed  at  night  the  verses  which  were  to  be  the 
memorials  of  the  events  of  the  day.  The  Araucana  is 
rather  a  versified  history  than  an  epic  poem  ;  yet  it  is 
impossible  to  read  the  work  without  admiring  the 
author's  talent  for  lively  description,  and  for  painting 
dramatic  situations.  His  diction  is  natural  and  correct, 
and  to  this  the  Araucana  is,  in  a  great  measure,  in- 
debted for  its  celebrity.  The  Spaniards  appear  to 
have  always  failed  in  the  epic,  in  consequence  of  the 
false  ideas  of  it  which  they  entertained.  Lucan,  their 
countryman,  has  ever  been,  in  their  eyes,  the  model 
of  epic  poets. 


SPANISH   LITERATURE.  195 

The  Araucana  opens  with  the  following  expositioa 
of  the  subject :  — 

"  I  sing  not  lovo  of  ladies,  nor  of  sights 
Devised  for  gentle  dames  by  courteous  knights; 
Nor  feasts,  nor  tourne3's,  nor  that  tender  care 
Which  prompts  tlie  gallant  to  regale  the  fair ; 
But  the  bold  deeds  of  valor's  favorite  train, 
Those  undegencrate  sons  of  warlike  Spain, 
Wlio  made  Arauco  their  stern  laws  embrace, 
And  bent  beneath  their  yoke  her  untamed  race  : 
Of  tribes  distinguished  in  the  field  1  sing; 
Of  nations  that  disdained  tiio  name  of  king  ; 
Courage,  that  danger  only  taught  to  grow, 
And  challenge  honor  from  a  generous  foe ; 
And  persevering  toils  of  purest  fame. 
And  feats  that  aggrandize  the  Spanish  name  ; 
For  the  brave  actions  of  tiie  vanquished  spread 
The  brightest  glory  round  the  victor's  head." 

On  the  invasion  of  their  country  by  the  Spaniards, 
the  Indians  meet  to  take  counsel  together. 

"  In  a  deep,  shady  vale  the  seniors  meet, 

Irabosomed  in  dark  woods,  —  a  cool  retreat,  — 

Where  gentle  Flora  slieds  her  annual  blooms, 

And  with  her  fragrant  scents  the  air  perfumes. 

The  sweet  perfumes  the  zephyrs  waft  away, 

Deep  whispering  through  the  groves  in  wanton  play : 

While  to  the  limpid  stream  that  purls  below, 

The  rising  gales  in  solemn  concert  blow. 

Th'  assembling  clans  within  this  bowery  screen 

Repose,  where  scarce  a  fiery  shaft  between 

From  Piicebus  can  descend  —  so  close,  above. 

The  hand  of  summer  weaves  tlie  solemn  grove." 

As  they  begin  their  deliberations,  in  the  style  of  fhe 
ancient  Germans,  with  a  plentiful  banquet,  they  soon 


196  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

grow  excited,  and  a  violent  quarrel  ensues  concerning 
ihe  command  of  the  army  —  an  honor  which  almost 
every  chieftain  is  arrogant  enough  to  challenge  for 
himself.  In  the  midst  of  the  turbulent  debate,  an  old 
warrior,  named  Colocolo,  delivers  the  following  ha- 
rangue, which  has  been  much  admired.  Voltaire 
ranks  it  above  the  speech  of  Nestor,  in  the  first  book 
of  the  Iliad. 

"  '  Assembled  chiefs  !     Ye  guardians  of  the  land  ! 

Think  not  I  mourn  from  thirst  of  lost  command,  — 

To  find  your  rival  spirits  thus  pursue 

A  post  of  honor  which  I  deem  my  due. 

These  marks  of  age,  you  see,  such  thoughts  disown 

In  me,  departing  for  the  world  unknown. 

But  my  warm  love,  which  ye  have  long  possessed, 

Now  prompts  that  counsel  you  will  find  the  best. 

Why  should  we  now  for  marks  of  glory  jar  ? 

Why  wish  to  spread  our  martial  name  afar  ? 

Crushed  as  we  are  by  fortune's  cruel  stroke. 

And  bent  beneath  an  ignominious  yoke, 

111  can  our  minds  such  noble  pride  maintain, 

While  the  fierce  Spaniard  holds  our  galling  chain. 

Your  generous  fury  here  ye  vaml}^  show  : 

Ah  !  rather  pour  it  on  th'  embattled  foe  ! 

'Gainst  your  own  vitals  would  ye  lift  those  hands 

Whose  manly  strength  should  burst  oppression's  bands .' 

If  mad  desire  of  death  this  rage  create, 
O  !  die  not  yet  in  this  degraded  state  ! 
Turn  these  keen  weapons,  this  indignant  flame. 
Against  the  foe  who  seeks  to  quench  your  fame. 
And  make  the  world  a  witness  of  your  shame. 

E'en  while  1  thus  lament,  1  still  admire 
The  fervor  of  your  souls ;  they  give  me  fire  ; 
But,  justly  trembling  at  their  fatal  bent, 
[  dread  some  dire,  calamitous  event ; 


SPANISH    LITERATUKE.  197 

Lest,  in  your  rage,  dissension's  frantic  hand 

May  shed  the  life-blood  of  our  native  land. 

If  such  its  doom,  my  tiiread  of  being  burst, 

And  let  your  old  compeer  expire  the  first ! 

Shall  this  shrunk  frame,  bowed  down  by  age's  weight, 

Live,  the  weak  witness  of  a  nation's  fate  ? 

No :  let  some  friendly  sword,  with  kind  relief, 

Save  it  from  sinking  in  that  scene  of  grief. 

Happy  !  whose  ej-cs  in  timely  darkness  close, 

Saved  from  that  worst  of  sights,  his  country's  woes  ! 

Yet  while  I  can,  I  make  your  weal  my  care, 

And  for  the  public  good  my  thoughts  declare. 

Equal  ye  are  in  courage  and  in  worth  ; 
Heaven  has  assigned  to  all  an  equal  birth. 
In  wealth,  in  power,  in  majesty  of  soul, 
Each  chief  seems  worthy  of  the  world's  control. 
These  gracious  gifts  not  gratefully  beheld. 
To  this  dire  strife  your  daring  minds  impelled. 
But  on  your  generous  valor  I  depend 
That  all  our  country's  woes  will  quickly  end.'  " 

Colocolo  then  proposes  that  a  trial  of  strength  be 
made  among  the  warriors,  and  that  the  command  of 
the  army  be  conferred  on  him  who  can  longest  sup- 
port a  massive  beam  on  his  shoulders.  The  prize  is 
gained  by  CaupoHcan.*  The  whole  scene  is  highly 
original  and  characteristic,  and  shows  that  had  Ercilla 
made  a  more  hberal  use  of  the  materials  for  his  poem 
which  he  might  have  found  among  the  people  and  the 
scenery  of  the  western  world,  he  would  have  produced 
a  work  vastly  superior  to  the  present  one,  in  beauty 
and  interest. 

The  greatest  name  in  Spanish  literature  is  that  of 

•  See  Lives  of  Famous  .Qmcrican  Indians. 

n* 


198  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

Cervantes.*  We  proceed  to  the  second  wonder  of 
Spain,  Lope  de  Vega,  whose  fertility  of  invention  is 
unparalleled  in  the  history  of  fiction.  Cervantes  styles 
him  the  "  prodigy  of  nature,"  and  this  name  was  not 
given  him  in  mere  levity.  He  was  fettered  by  no  rules 
of  criticism  :  not  that  he  was  ignorant  of  the  theory 
of  the  ancient  poetry,  but  he  took  delight  in  allowing 
his  verses  to  flow  freely  from  his  pen,  confident  in  the 
success  of  whatever  he  might  produce.  It  required  no 
more  than  one  day  to  write  a  versified  drama  inter- 
spersed with  sonnets,  songs,  &c.,  and  from  beginning  to 
end  abounding  in  intrigues  and  interesting  situations. 
This  astonishing  facility  enabled  him  to  supply  the 
Spanish  theatre  with  upwards  of  two  thotisand  original 
dramas  —  of  which,  however,  not  more  than  three  hun- 
dred have  been  preserved  by  printing.  He  sometimes 
vn-ote  a  play  in  three  hours.  The  profits  which  the 
theatrical  managers  derived  from  the  writings  of  Lope 
enabled  them  to  bestow  such  liberal  payment  on  the 
author,  that  at  one  time  he  is  supposed  to  have  been 
possessed  of  upwards  of  a  hundred  thousand  ducats. 
His  poetic  talent  procured  him  even  more  glory  than 
gain.  No  Spanish  poet  was  ever  so  much  honored 
during  his  life :  the  nobility  and  the  public  vied  in  ex- 
pressing their  admiration  of  him.  Whenever  he  ap- 
peared in  the  streets,  he  was  surrounded  by  crowds  of 
people,  all  eager  to  gain  a  sight  of  the  "  prodigy  of 
nature  ; "  the  boys  ran  shouting  after  him  ;  and  those 
who  could  not  keep  pace  with  the  rest,  stood  and  gazed 

*  For  the  life  and  writings  of  Cervantes,  see  Fanums  Men 
of  Modem  Times. 


SPANISH   LITERATURE.  199 

with  wonder  as  he  passed.  He  is  estimated  to  have 
written  21,300,000  verses !  He  died  in  1631,  in  his 
63d  year ;  and  his  funeral  was  conducted  with  princely 
magnificence. 

Nature  would  have  overstepped  her  bounds,  and 
produced  a  miracle,  had  Lope  de  Vega,  with  this 
rapidity  of  invention  and  composition,  attained  perfec- 
tion in  any  department  of  literature.  Nature,  how- 
ever, did  her  utmost  for  this  extraordinary  man ;  for  the 
rudest  and  most  faulty  of  his  performances  are  imbued 
with  a  poetic  spirit  which  no  methodical  art  can  create. 
He  was  born  for  dramatic  poetry ;  and  if  he  did  not 
create  the  Spanish  comedy,  his  inexhaustible  fancy 
conferred  on  it  that  character  by  which  it  has  since 
been  distinguished,  and  he  fixed,  for  a  century  and  a 
half,  the  spirit  and  style  of  nearly  all  the  different 
kinds  of  dramatic  entertainment  in  Spain.* 

By  the  side  of  Lope  deserves  to  be  placed  Pedro 
Calderon  de  la  Barca,  one  of  the  greatest  of  dramatic 
writers.  Which  of  the  two  possessed  the  greatest 
share  of  inventive  talent,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
decide.  In  general,  the  invention  of  Lope  may  be  the 
bolder,  but  it  is  also  the  more  rude,  of  the  two ;  and  in 
refinement  of  conception  and  style,  Calderon  formed 
for  himself  an  entirely  new  sphere.  As  an  acute 
observer  of  the  female  mind  and  manners,  Calderon 
was  infinitely  superior  to  Lope.  This  delicacy  of  ob- 
servation accords  admirably  with  the  almost  incredible 
subtlety  of  his  combinations  of  intrigue,  while  the  ele- 

*  For  a  specimen  of  the  writings  of  Lope,  see  Lives  of 
Famous  American  Indians,  article  "  Caupolican. 


200  SPANISH    LITERATURE. 

gance  of  his  language  and  versification  completes  the 
ingenious  harmony  of  his  apparently  irregular  dramas. 
Spanish  literature  is  rich  in  lyrical  and  pastoral 
poetry ;  but  we  have  no  room  for  extracts  from  Bos- 
can,  Herrera,  Garcilaso  de  la  Vega,  Montemayor, 
and  others,  who  wrote  with  great  elegance  and  taste. 
Quevedo  enjoys  a  great  reputation  for  his  satirical  and 
humorous  writings.  The  Spaniards,  after  imitating  for 
some  time  the  Italian  novelists,  invented  a  species  of 
novel,  which,  by  way  of  distinguishiag  it  from  the  pas- 
toral romances  in  prose,  and  the  numerous  romances 
of  chivaliy,  was  denominated  picaresco  or  "  rogue " 
novels.  Of  these,  the  most  celebrated  are  the  Laza- 
rillo  de  Tormes,  by  Mendoza,  and  the  Guzman  de  Al- 
farache,  by  Aleman.  The  best  historical  writers  in 
Spanish  are  Mariana,  Mendoza,  Herrera,  and  De  Soils. 
Among  the  living  writers  of  Spain,  one  of  the  most" 
successful  is  Martinez  de  la  Rosa,  who,  in  his  dramatic 
compositions,  is  considered  equal  to  Moratin,  who  is 
ranked  by  his  countrymen  as  next  to  Calderon  and 
Lope. 


PORTUGUESE   LITERATURE. 


The  Portuguese  language  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as 
a  corrupt  dialect  of  the  Castilian ;  but  this  is  an  error. 
They  are  botli  hke  the  Attic  and  Ionic  branches  of  the 
Greek  —  two  boughs,  of  equal  extent  and  beauty,  pro- 
ceeding from  one  trunk.  It  is  said  by  a  man  of  genius 
that  Spanish  is  just  such  a  language  as  he  should  have 
expected  to  hear  spoken  by  a  Roman  slave  sulky  from 
the  bastinado  ;  the  Portuguese,  with  a  more  compli- 
mentary comparison,  love  to  speak  of  their  language  as 
the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Latin.  This  daughter  of 
Rome  has  been  the  servant  of  the  Goths  and  the 
Moors  :  still,  however,  the  mother  tongue  predominates 
more  in  Portugal  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 
The  Portuguese  has  about  the  same  proportion  of 
Arabic  as  the  Castilian,  but  it  has  escaped  all  guttural 
sounds.  Its  harmonious  softness  probably  contributed 
no  less  to  its  early  cultivation  in  general  than  to  its 
fitness  for  poetry  in  particular. 

The  popular  ballads  of  Portugal  have  perished  ;  but 
the  Spaniards,  who  have  such  abundance  of  them,  ac- 
knowledge that  they  received  the  earliest  fashion  of 
their  poetry  from  Galicia  and  Portugal.  The  first 
writers  who  attract  any  notice,  among  the  Portuguese, 
are  Sa  de  Miranda,  and  Fcrreira.     We  shall  refrain, 


202  PORTUGUESE  LITERATURE. 

however,  from  troubling  the  reader  with  names  of 
obscure  writers.  The  Portuguese  have  produced  but 
one  great  poet,  Luis  de  Camoens. 

This  author  was  born  at  Lisbon,  in  1524.  He 
studied  at  the  university  of  Coimbra,  and  served  in  the 
Portuguese  army  ;  at  an  early  age,  he  lost  his  right  eye 
in  battle.  In  1553,  he  embarked  for  India,  as  hopeless 
an  adventurer  as  ever  sought  those  shores.  The 
voyage  from  Portugal  to  India  was,  in  those  days,  more 
perilous  than  will  easily  be  believed  at  present.  The 
seas  swarmed  with  pirates ;  shipwrecks  were  dread- 
fully frequent;  and  even  when  these  dangers  were 
escaped,  the  common  mortality  was  so  great,  that  the 
celebrated  preacher  Vieyra  says,  "If  the  dead  who 
had  been  thrown  overboard  between  the  coast  of 
Guinea  and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  between 
that  cape  and  Mozambique,  could  have  monuments 
placed  for  them  where  they  sank,  the  whole  way  would 
appear  like  one  continued  cemetery."  The  ship  in 
which  Camoens  sailed  was  the  only  one  of  the  fleet 
which  escaped  destruction,  and  he  arrived  in  India  to 
encounter  adventures  and  hazards  of  every  description. 
Before  he  left  Europe,  he  had  begun  his  poem  of  the 
Lusiad,  which  he  completed  during  his  residence  in 
the  East.  The  remamder  of  his  life  was  one  continual 
series  of  calamities.  He  set  sail  from  Macao,  in  a 
ship  freighted  by  himself,  for  Goa,  and  was  ship- 
wrecked on  the  coast  of  Cochin  China,  near  the  River 
Mecon.  All  the  wealth  which  he  had  acquired  was 
lost  m  the  waves,  and  he  escaped,  almost  miraculously, 
on  a  plank,  saving  nothing  but  the  manuscript  of  his 
poem.     But  the  natives  gave  him  a  most  humane  re- 


PORTUGUESE    LITEKATURE.  203 

ception,  and  he  has  immortalized  them  for  it  in  the 
Lusiad.  He  arrived  in  Portugal,  after  an  absence  of 
sixteen  years,  in  a  state  of  great  poverty.  He  pub- 
lished his  poem  in  1572,  and  died  some  years  afterward, 
it  is  believed,  in  an  alms-house.  Camoens  is  rightly 
enumerated  among  those  men  who  are  equally  the 
pride  and  reproach  of  their  country  —  who  have  asked 
for  bread,  and  received  a  stone. 

Almost  every  species  of  poetic  composition  was 
attempted  by  Camoens ;  but  the  Lusiad  rises  so  vastly 
above  his  other  works,  and  bears  such  powerful  and 
characteristic  marks  of  his  genius,  that  all  his  lesser 
compositions  may  be  considered  as  merely  inferior 
scions  sprung  from  the  same  root. 

The  Lusiad  is  an  heroic  poem  ;  but  so  essentially 
different,  in  respect  to  the  plan,  from  all  other  epic 
compositions,  that  it  is  necessary,  in  judging  of  it,  to 
drop  the  ordinary  rules  of  comparison,  and  to  proceed 
upon  the  general  idea  of  epic  poetry,  unmodified  by 
any  prepossession  for  known  models.  Camoens  struck 
out  a  totally  new  path  in  the  region  of  epopoeia.  The 
style  of  his  poem  is,  indeed,  formed  chiefly  on  the 
ancient  models  ;  but  the  epic  idea  of  the  work  is  en- 
tirely his  own,  and  the  species  of  composition  whicTi 
forms  its  groundwork  was  something  entirely  original 
in  poetic  literature.  His  object  was  to  recount  in 
heroic  strains,  with  pure  poetic  feeling,  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  great  men  of  Portugal  in  general,  not 
of  any  individual  in  particular,  and  consequently  not 
of  Vasco  dc  Gama,  who  is  commonly  considered  the 
hero  of  the  Lusiad. 

A  poetic  and  epic  grouping  of  all  the  great  and  most 


204  PORTUGUESE  LITERATURE, 

interesting  events  in  the  annals  of  his  country,  was 
what  Camocns  wished  to  accomphsli.  He  therefore 
very  happily  selected  the  event  which  constitutes  the 
most  brilliant  epoch  in  Portuguese  history,  as  a  central 
point  for  all  the  different  parts  of  his  epic  picture.  The 
discovery  of  the  passage  to  laiia,  by  Vasco,  was  cer- 
tainly not  an  heroic  achievement  in  the  usual  sense  of 
the  term ;  but  in  that  age,  when  such  adventures  bor- 
dered on  the  incredible,  it  was  a  truly  heroic  enter- 
prise. Vasco  is  merely  the  spindle  round  which  the 
thread  of  the  narrative  is  wound ;  the  heroes  who 
shine  with  the  greatest  lustre,  in  the  Lusiad,  are  all 
introduced  in  what  arc  styled  the  episodes,  although 
the  poem  has,  in  reality,  no  episode,  except  the  short 
story  of  the  giant  Adamastor.  A  poetic  sketch  of  the 
ancient  history  of  Portugal,  occupying  nearly  one  half 
of  the  work,  and  commonly  called  an  episode,  belongs 
as  essentially  to  the  whole,  as  any  other  of  the  principal 
parts  of  the  great  picture.  The  Lusiad,  therefore,  may 
be  termed  an  epic  national  picture  of  Portuguese  glory. 
It  has  been  the  fate  of  Camoens,  as  of  many  other 
poets,  to  be  more  admired,  by  the  great  majority  of  his 
readers,  for  his  faults,  than  for  his  excellences.  The 
three  passages  of  the  Lusiad  which  are  commonly  se- 
lected for  admiration,  are  the  Floating  Island,  the  Appa- 
rition of  the  Spirit  of  the  Cape,  and  the  story  of  Inez  de 
Castro.  The  first  of  these  has  all  the  author's  charac- 
teristic merits  of  style,  his  animated  manner,  and 
sweetness  of  diction  ;  and  those  whose  moral  feeling 
can  tolerate  it,  may  admire  it  with  little  other  impeach- 
ment of  their  judgment.  The  second  is  certainly  a 
conception    highly    poetical  ;    but   the    latter   part   of 


PORTUGUESE    LITERATURE.  205 

the  story  is  absurdly  puerile.  The  tale  of  Inez  de 
Castro  is  in  its  nature  so  tragic,  that  it  must  ever 
impress  young  minds  deeply  and  incffaccably  ;  and  few 
readers  are  critically  cool  enough  to  see  how  the  poet 
fails,  when  he  makes  the  fair  victim  plead  for  herself. 
This  unfortunate  lady  was  the  daughter  of  a  Castilian 
gentleman  who  had  taken  refuse  at  the  court  of  Por- 
tugal.  Her  beauty  and  accomplishments  attracted  the 
notice  of  Don  Pedro,  the  king's  eldest  son,  a  prince  of 
a  brave  and  noble  disposition.  She  became  attached 
to  him,  and,  according  to  some  accounts,  they  were 
privately  married.  But  dreading  the  resentment  of 
his  father,  who  was  of  a  stern  and  unforgiving  temper, 
Pedro  caused  the  whole  to  pass  for  an  act  of  gallantry. 
The  enemies  of  Inez,  jealous  of  her  power  over 
the  prince,  persuaded  the  king  to  put  her  to  death. 
This  story  is  so  famous  in  Portuguese  history,  and  has 
been  the  subject  of  so  many  poems  and  dramatic 
pieces,  that  we  shall  give  the  portion  of  the  Lusiad 
which  relates  to  it. 

"  'Twas  thou,  O  love,  whose  dreaded  shafts  control 
The  hind's  rude  heart,  and  tear  the  hero's  soul ; 
Thou  ruthless  power,  with  bloodshed  never  cloyed, 
'Twas  thou  thy  lovely  votary  destroyed. 
Tliy  thirst  still  burning  for  a  deeper  woe, 
In  vain  to  thee  the  tears  of  beauty  flow. 
The  breast  that  feels  thy  purest  flames  divine, 
With  spouting  gore  must  bathe  thy  cruel  shrine. 
Such  thy  dire  triumphs  !  — Thou,  O  nymph,  the  while, 
Prophetic  of  the  god's  unpitying  guile, 
In  tender  scenes,  by  lovesick  fancy  wrought, 
By  fear  oft  siiifted,  as  by  fancy  brought, 
In  sweet  Mondego's  cver-verdant  bowers, 
LangJished  away  the  slow  and  lonely  hours. 
XVII. — 18 


206  PORTUGUESE  LITERATURE. 

While  now,  as  terror  waked  the  boding  fears, 

The  conscious  stream  received  tliy  pearly  tears  ; 

And  now,  as  hope  revived  the  brighter  flame, 

Each  cchx)  sighed  thy  princely  lover's  name. 

Nor  less  could  absence  from  thy  prince  remove 

The  dear  remembrance  of  his  distant  love  ; 

Thy  looks,  tliy  smiles,  before  him  ever  glow, 

And  o'er  his  melting  heart  endearing  flow. 

By  night  his  slumbers  bring  thee  to  his  arms  ; 

By  day  his  thoughts  still  wander  o'er  thy  charms. 

By  night,  by  day,  each  thought  thy  love  employ, 

Each  thought  the  memory  or  the  hope  of  joy. 

Though  fairest  princely  dames  invoked  his  love, 

No  princely  dame  his  constant  faith  could  move. 

For  thee  alone  his  constant  passion  burned, 

For  thee  the  proffered  royal  maids  he  scorned. 

Ah,  hope  of  bliss  too  high  !  the  princely  dames 

Refused,  dread  rage  the  father's  breast  inflames. 

He  with  an  old  man's  wintry  eye  surveys 

The  youth's  fond  love,  and  coldly  with  it  weighs 

The  people's  murmurs  of  his  son's  delay 

To  bless  the  nation  with  his  nuptial  day. 

Alas !  the  nuptial  day  was  past  unknown, 

Which,  but  when  crowned,  the  prince  would  dare  to  own. 

And  with  the  fair  one's  blood,  the  vengeful  sire 

Resolves  to  quench  his  Pedro's  faithful  fire. 

O  thou  dread  sword,  oft  stained  with  hero's  gore, 

Thou  awful  terror  of  the  prostrate  Moor ! 

What  rage  could  aim  thee  at  a  female  breast, 

Unarmed  —  by  softness  and  by  love  possessed  ! 

Dragged  from  her  bower  by  murderous  ruffian  hands, 
Before  the  frowning  king  fair  Inez  stands  ; 
Her  tears  of  artless  innocence,  her  air 
So  mild,  so  lovely,  and  her  face  so  fair. 
Moved  the  stern  monarch, —  when,  with  eager  zeal, 
Her  fierce  destroyers  urged  the  public  weal. 
Dread  rage  again  the  tyrant's  soul  possessed, 
And  his  dark  brow  his  cruel  thoughts  confessed. 


PORTUGUESE  LITERATURE.  207 

O'er  her  fair  face  a  sudden  paleness  spread, 

Her  throbbing  heart  with  generous  anguish  bled, 

Anguished  to  view  lier  lover's  helpless  woes ; 

And  all  the  mother  in  her  bosom  rose. 

Her  beauteous  eyes,  in  trembling  tear-drops  drowned, 

To  Heaven  she  lifted,  but  her  hands  were  bound ; 

Then  on  her  infants  turned  a  piteous  glance. 

The  look  of  bleeding  woe;  the  babes  advance, 

Smiling  in  innocence  of  infant  age, 

Unawed,  unconscious  of  their  grandsire's  rage; 

To  whom,  as  bursting  sorrow  gave  the  flow, 

The  native,  heartsprung  eloquence  of  woe, 

The  lovely  captive  thus  :    '  O  monarch,  hear ! 

If  e'er  to  thee  the  name  of  man  was  dear, — 

If  prowling  tiger,  or  the  wolfs  wild  brood, 

Inspired  by  nature  with  the  lust  of  blood. 

Have  yet  been  moved  the  weeping  babe  to  spare, 

Nor  left,  but  tended  with  a  nurse's  care, 

As  Rome's  great  founders  to  the  world  were  given,  — 

Shalt  thou,  who  wear'st  the  sacred  stamp  of  Heaven, 

The  human  form  divine,  shalt  thou  deny 

That  aid,  that  pity,  which  e'en  beasts  supply  ? 

O  that  thy  heart  were,  as  thy  looks  declare, 

Of  human  mould  !  superfluous  were  my  prayer. 

Thou  couldst  not  then  a  helpless  damsel  slay. 

Whose  sole  offence  in  fond  affiection  lay. 

In  faith  to  him  who  first  his  love  confessed. 

Who  first  to  love  allured  her  virgin  breast. 

In  these  my  babes  shalt  thou  thine  image  see. 

And  still  tremendous  hurl  thy  rage  on  me  ? 

Me  for  their  sakcs  if  yet  thou  wilt  not  spare, 

O  let  these  infants  prove  thy  pious  care  !  ' 

In  tears  she  uttered.     As  the  frozen  snow, 
Touched  by  the  spring's  mild  ray,  begins  to  flow, 
So  just  began  to  melt  his  stubborn  soul, 
As  mild--ayed  pity  o'er  the  tyrant  stole 


208  PORTUGUESE  LITERATUEE. 

But  destiny  forbade  ;  with  eager  zeal, 

Again  pretended  for  the  public  weal, 

The  fierce  accusers  urged  her  speedy  doom  • 

Again  dark  rage  diffused  its  horrid  gloom 

O'er  stern  Alfonso's  brow.     Swift,  at  the  sign. 

Their  swords,  unsheathed,  around  her  brandished  shine. 

O,  foul  disgrace  !  of  knighthood  lasting  stain  ! 

By  men  of  arms  a  helpless  lady  slain ! 

Thus  Pyrrhus,  burning  with  unmanly  ire, 
Fulfilled  the  mandate  of  his  furious  sire, 
Disdainful  of  the  frantic  matron's  prayer. 
On  fair  Polyxcna,  her  last  fond  care. 
He  rushed,  his  blade  yet  warm  with  Priam's  gore, 
And  dashed  the  daughter  on  the  sacred  floor. 
While  mildly  she  her  raving  mother  eyed. 
Resigned  her  bosom  to  the  sword,  and  died  ! 

Thus  Inez,  while  her  eyes  to  Heaven  appeal. 
Resigns  her  bosom  to  the  murdering  steel : 
That  snowy  neck,  whose  matchless  form  sustained 
The  loveliest  face,  where  all  the  graces  reigned. 
Whose  charms  so  long  the  gallant  prince  inflamed. 
That  her  pale  corse  was  Lisbon's  queen  proclaimed,  — 
That  snowy  neck  was  stained  with  spouting  gore ; 
Another  sword  her  lovely  bosom  tore. 
The  flowers  that  glistened  with  her  tears  bedewed. 
Now  shrank  and  languished,  with  her  blood  imbrued. 
As  when  a  rose,  erewhile  of  bloom  so  gay. 
Thrown  from  the  careless  virgin's  breast  away, 
Lies  faded  on  the  plain,  —  the  living  red. 
The  snowy  white,  and  all  its  fragrance,  fled  — 
So  from  her  cheeks  the  roses  died  away. 
And  pale  in  death  the  beauteous  Inez  lay. 
With  horrid  smiles,  and  crimsoned  with  her  blood, 
Round  the  wan  victim  the  stern  murderers  stood ; 
Unmindful  of  the  sure  though  future  hour. 
Sacred  to  vengeance  and  her  lover's  power. 

O  Sun  !  couldst  thou  so  foul  a  crime  behold, 
Nor  veil  thy  head  in  darkness,  as  of  old  .' 


PORTUGUESE   LITEEATUEE.  209 

A  sudden  light  unwonted  horror  cast 

O'er  that  dire  banquet  where  the  sire's  repast 

The  son's  torn  limbs  supplied  !  —  Yet  you,  ye  vales  ! 

Ye  distant  forests,  and  ye  flowery  dales  ! 

When,  pale,  and  sinking  to  the  dreadful  fall, 

You  heard  her  quivering  lips  on  Pedro  call, 

Your  faithful  echoes  caught  the  parting  sound. 

And  '  Pedro  !  Pedro  !  '  mournful  sighed  around. 

Nor  less  the  wood-nymphs  of  Mondego's  groves 

Bewailed  the  memory  of  her  hapless  loves. 

Her  griefs  they  wept,  and  to  a  plaintive  rill 

Transformed  their  tears,  which  weeps  and  murmar^    tiL. 

To  give  immortal  pity  to  her  woe. 

They  taught  the  rivulet  through  her  bowers  to  flow  ; 

And  still  through  violet  beds  the  fountain  pours 

Its  plaintive  wailing,  and  is  named  Amores  ! 

Nor  long  her  blood  for  vengeance  cried  in  vain ; 
Her  gallant  lord  begins  his  awful  reign. 
In  vain  her  murderers  for  refuge  fly ; 
Spain's  wildest  hills  no  place  of  rest  supply. 
The  injured  lover's  and  the  monarch's  ire, 
And  stern-browed  Justice,  in  their  doom  conspire  ; 
In  hissing  flames  they  die,  and  yield  their  souls  in  fire." 

The  Portuguese  have  produced  one  eminent  dram 
atist,  Gil  Vicente.  In  national  history,  some  of  their 
productions  arc  almost  unrivalled.  During  that  period 
when  their  achievements  were  more  extraordinary  than 
those  of  almost  any  other  people,  they  produced  histo- 
rians worthy  to  record  them  ;  no  other  nation  possesses 
such  a  series  of  excellent  chroniclers.  Among  these 
writers  the  most  eminent  are  Fernam  Lopes,  Joam  dc 
Barros,  and  Diego  dc  Couto. 
N        18* 


FRENCH    LITERATURE. 


The  most  ancient  language  of  Gaul  was  the  Celtic  ; 
bu^  it  had  become  so  far  corrupted,  or  supplanted,  by 
the  Roman,  when  the  Franks  conquered  the  country, 
as  nearly  to  have  disappeared,  except  in  the  province 
of  Brittany,  where  it  has  remained  to  the  present  day. 
The  massacres  which  accompanied  the  wars  of  Julius 
Caesar,  the  subjection  of  the  vanquished,  and  the  ambi- 
tion of  those  Gauls  who  procured  the  privileges  of 
Roman  citizens,  all  concurred  to  produce  a  change  in 
the  manners,  the  spirit,  and  the  language,  of  the  prov- 
inces situated  between  the  Alps,  the  Pyrenees,  and  the 
Rhine.  From  that  country  accomplished  Latin  schol- 
ars, ajid  celebrated  teachers  of  rhetoric  and  grammar, 
proceeded,  while  the  people  at  large  acquired  a  taste  for 
Roman  spectacles,  and  ornamented  their  principal  cities 
with  magnificent  theatres.  The  Franks,  who  spoke  a 
northern  or  German  dialect,  introduced  a  new  idiom 
among  the  Gauls.  In  writing,  an  attempt  was  made 
still  to  keep  alive  the  Latin ;  but  in  conversation  every 
one  gradually  yielded  to  the  prevaiUng  habit,  and 
dropped  the  letters  and  terminations  which  were  re- 
garded as  superfluous.  The  French  language  at 
length  became  divided  into  two  principal  idioms,  sep- 
arated by  the  River  Loire  ;  the  southern  was  called  the 


FEENCH   LITERATURE.  211 

langue  d''Oc,*  and  afterwards  the  Pi'ovenpal,  and  the 
northern,  the  langue  (fOil  or  Old. 

Normandy  gave  birth  to  the  first  poets,  and  the  first 
'writers  in  the  French  languacre.  The  laws  which  Wii- 
Ham  the  Conqueror,  who  died  in  1087,  imposed  upon 
his  EngHsh  subjects,  are  the  most  ancient  works  in  this 
tongue  which  have  come  down  to  us.  The  Norman 
writers  appear  to  liavc  invented  tlie  romance  of  chiv- 
alry ;  which  kind  of  composition  was  originally  a  ver- 
sified chronicle,  founded  upon  facts,  but  disfigured  by  the 
most  absurd  fictions.  Robert  Wacc,  an  Englishman, 
educated  in  Normandy,  who  lived  at  the  court  of 
Eleanor  of  Aquitainc,  mother  of  llichard  CcEur  de  Lion, 
wrote  the  Brut  (P Angleterre,  about  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century  ;  he  is  also  the  author  of  the  Roman  de 
la  Ron.  Many  other  romances  were  written  in  Norman 
French  about  that  time ;  their  principal  theme  was  Kng 
Arthur  and  his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  Another 
kind  of  poetry  which  belongs  to  this  period,  is  the 
failiaux,  or  [a]cs,  which  are  partly  of  Oriental  origin,  and 
were  imported  by  tlic  crusaders  into  Europe.  They  are 
generally  written  in  verse,  and  sometimes  alternately 
in  verse  and  prose.  They  often  contain  a  great  deal 
of  wit  and  drollery,  but  are  as  frequently  disfigured  by 
coarse  licentiousness.  The  poets  of  other  countries 
have  borrowed  largely  from  them.  The  poem  of  Al- 
exander is  that  which  has  enjoyed  the  greatest  share 
of  reputation.  It  is  not  the  work  of  one  individual, 
but  consists  of  a  series  of  romances  and  marvellous 
histories  by  nine  celebrated  poets  of  the  time. 

*  For    some    account   of  the    Proven<;al    literature,    see 
Lights  and  Shadows  of  Europutn  History. 


212  FRENCH    LITERATURE. 

The  invention  of  the  brilliant  system  of  romantic 
chivalry  was  perfected  about  the  conclusion  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  The  knights  no  longer  wandered, 
like  the  cavaliers  of  the  Round  Table,  through  the  dark 
forests  of  a  semi-barbarous  country  covered  with  mists 
or  white  with  frosts.  The  whole  universe  was  exposed 
to  their  eyes.  The  Holy  Land  was  their  grand  object ; 
and,  as  a  consequence  of  their  enterprises  in  that  quar- 
ter, they  established  an  intercourse  with  the  great  and 
wealthy  kingdoms  of  the  East.  Their  geography,  like 
all  their  knowledge,  was  very  confused.  Their  voy- 
ages from  Spain  to  Carthage,  and  from  Denmark  to 
Tunis,  were  accomplished  with  a  facility  and  rapidity 
as  surprising  as  the  enchantments  of  Morgana.  These 
fantastic  voyages  furnished  the  romance-writers  with 
opportunities  of  adorning  their  narrative  with  the  most 
splendid  descriptions.  All  the  luxury  and  perfumes  of 
the  most  highly-favored  countries  were  at  their  com- 
mand. The  pomp  and  magnificence  of  Damascus,  of 
Bagdad,  and  of  Constantinople,  swelled  the  triumphs  of 
their  heroes.  But  the  most  precious  of  all  their  acqui- 
sitions was  the  imagination  of  the  people  of  the  South 
and  East  —  that  brilliant  and  playful  faculty  so  well  cal- 
culated to  give  animation  to  the  sombre  mythology  of 
the  North. 

Although  the  modern  literature  of  France  is  entirely 
distinct  from  the  romantic  literature,  having  adopted  a 
different  set  of  rules,  and  a  different  spirit  and  charac- 
ter, yet  it  had  the  same  origm.  It  owed  its  birth,  in  the 
same  manner,  to  the  mixture  of  the  northern  nations 
with  the  Romans.  Chivalry,  and  the  feudal  system, 
the  manners  and  opinions  of  the  middle  ages,  gave  it 


FRENCH   LITERATURE.  213 

its  peculiar  character.  Although  none  of  the  works  to 
which  we  have  alluded  enjoy  a  high  reputation,  or  de- 
serve to  be  ranked  among  the  masterpieces  of  the 
human  intellect,  they  are  still  worthy  of  our  attention 
as  monuments  of  the  progress  of  the  mind,  and  as 
gleams  of  that  rising  taste  which  has  since  been  fully 
developed. 

The  fifteenth  century  gave  birtli,  in  France,  to  a 
kind  of  allegorical  and  satirical  poetry,  of  which  the 
most  remarkable  specimens  are  the  Roman  de  Renard 
and  the  Roman  de  la  Rou.  The  former  is  the  well- 
known  story  of  Renard  the  Fox  ;  it  is,  however,  doubtful 
whether  the  original  of  this  belongs  to  the  German  or 
the  French.  The  appellation  of  reman  was  given  at 
that  time  to  every  book  written  in  the  Romance  or 
common  idiom,  instead  of  Latin,  which  was  then  the 
learned  language.  The  Roman  de  la  Rou  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  celebrated  French  production  of  the  middle 
ages.  It  is  a  kind  of  didactic  allegorical  poem, 
which  professes  to  teach  the  art  of  love,  and  embraces 
the  most  varied  subjects.  It  is  a  very  extraordinary 
mixture  of  divinity  and  profane  science,  in  which  pas- 
sages from  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  stand  side  by  side 
with  extracts  from  Ovid's  Art  of  Love.  This  work 
was  begun  by  William  de  Lorris,  and  finished  by  Jean 
de  Mehan.  It  contains  22,000  verses,  and  was  consid- 
ered, in  France,  for  three  centuries,  as  a  masterpiece. 
In  fact,  it  is  far  beyond  the  rude  cflx)rts  of  all  the 
preceding  French  romances,  and  nothing  equal  to  it 
appeared  till  the  reign  of  Francis  I.,  —  a  space  of 
more  than  two  centuries. 

This  poem  exhibits  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  a 


214  FRENCH    LITERATURE. 

lover  in  i)ursuiiig  and  obtaining  the  object  of  his  de- 
sires. The  whole  is  couched  under  the  allegory  of  a 
rose,  which  our  lover,  after  many  obstacles,  gathers 
in  a  delicious  garden.  He  traverses  vast  ditches, 
scales  lofty  wails,  and  forces  the  gates  of  adamantine 
and  almost  impregnable  castles.  These  enchanted 
fortresses  are  all  inhabited  by  various  divinities,  some 
of  which  assist,  and  some  oppose,  the  lover's  progress. 
Chaucer  has  translated  the  Roman  de  la  Rou,  and  wo 
shall  copy  a  short  extract  in  his  old  English.  —  The 
renovation  of  nature  in  the  month  of  May  is  thus  de- 
scribed :  — 

"  That  it  was  May  thus  dremed  me, 

In  time  of  love  and  jollitie, 

That  all  things  ginnith  waxen  gay. 

For  there  is  neither  busk  nor  hay,* 

In  May  that  it  n'ill  shrouded  bene; 

These  wooddis  eke  recoverin  grene. 

That  drie  in  winter  ben  to  sene  ; 

And  the  erth  waxith  prouder  withall 

For  sote  dewis  that  on  it  fall, 

And  the  povir  estate  forgette 

In  which  that  winter  had  it  sette  : 

And  thanne  becometh  the  grounde  so  proude, 

That  it  will  have  a  newc  shroud, 

And  make  so  quaynt  his  robe  and  fayre, 

That  it  had  hewes  an  hundred  payre, 

Of  grasse  and  flowris,  Inde  and  Pers, 

And  many  hcwcs  ful  divers; 

That  is  the  robe  I  mene,  I  wis, 

Through  which  the  grounde  to  praisin  is : 

The  birdis  that  have  lefte  their  songe. 

While  they  have  sufirid  cold  ful  stronge. 

*  Bush  nor  hedge. 


\ 

FRENCH    LITERATURE.  215 


In  places  saw  I  wellis  there, 

In  which  ther  no  froggis  were, 

And  fairc  in  shadow  was  eche  wel : 

But  1  nc'  can  tlie  noinbre  tel 

Of  stremes  small,  that  by  devise. 

Mirth  had  don  come  through  condise,  [conduits.] 

Of  which  the  watir  in  renning, 

Gan  makin  a  noise  ful  liking 

About  the  brinkis  of  these  wellis  ; 

And  by  the  stremes  ever  al  cllis, 

Sprange  up  the  grasse  as  thick  isett. 

And  soft  eke  as  any  velvett. 

On  which  man  might  his  leman  ley, 

As  soft  as  fetherbcd,  to  pleye. 

There  sprange  the  violet  al  newe. 

And  fresh  pcrwinke  riche  of  hewe  ; 

And  flowris  yalowo,  white,  and  rede, 

Such  plenti  grew  ther  ner  in  mcde. 

Ful  gaie  was  al  the  groundc  and  queint. 

And  poudrid,  as  men  had  it  peint 

With  many  a  fresh  and  sondry  floure. 

That  castin  up  ful  gode  savoiire." 

We  can  only  add  the  portrait  of  the  Goddess  ot 
Beauty,  which  has  been  highly  admired  :  — 

"The  God  of  Love,  jolife  and  light, 

Ladde  on  his  honde  a  ladie  bright. 

Of  high  prise  and  of  gret  degree  ; 

This  ladie  called  was  Beautie. 

And  an  arowc,  of  which  I  told,  * 

Ful  wel  ythowid  was  she  holdc  ; 

Ne  was  she  darko,  ne  browne,  but  bright. 

And  clere  as  is  the  mon6  light. 

Her  fleshc  was  tendre  as  dewc  of  floure. 

Her  chero  was  simple  as  birde  in  boure ; 


216  FRENCH    LITERATURE. 

And  white  as  lilic,  or  rose  in  rise, 

Her  face  was  gentil  and  tretise,   [icdl-proportioned.^ 

Her  tresses  yalowe  and  long  straughten, 

Unto  her  helis  down  the  raughten." 

No  poet  before  William  dc  Lorris,  either  Italian  or 
French,  had  delineated  allegorical  personages  in  so 
distinct  and  enlarged  a  style,  and  with  such  a  fulness 
of  characteristic  attributes.  Nor  had  descriptive  poetry 
selected  such  a  variety  of  circumstances,  and  disclosed 
such  an  exuberance  of  embellishment  in  forming  atrree- 
able  representations  of  nature.  It  is  not  surprising, 
therefore,  that  the  Roman  cle  la  Ron  should  have 
gained  a  high  reputation  among  the  French,  and  be- 
come a  favorite  with  the  great  father  of  English  poetry. 
Even  as  late  as  the  seventeenth  century,  there  were 
persons  who  compared  it  with  the  Bivina  Commedia 
of  Dante. 

Froissart,  the  celebrated  historian,  was  also  one  of  the 
early  French  poets.  He  was  born  in  1337,  and  began 
to  write  history  at  the  age  of  twenty.  Out  of  his  own 
compositions,  and  those  of  others,  he  formed  a  romance 
of  love  and  chivalry,  entitled  Le  Meliador.  But  Frois- 
sart, although  he  was  the  author  of  many  thousand 
verses,  is  now  only  known  as  an  historian  ;  and  in  this 
capacity,  with  all  the  artlessness  and  minuteness  of 
narrative  belonging  to  his  age,  he  is  highly  valued  by 
those  who  l^ke  to  study  ancient  manners  at  the  fountain- 
head.  His  Chronicles  comprehend  the  period  froml326 
to  1400  ;  and  they  relate  the  events  which  took  place  in 
France,  Flanders,  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  Italy,  &c. 
Historical  memoirs  are  a  species  of  literature  peculiar 
to  the  French,  the  commencement  of  which  dates  from 


FRENCH   LITERATURE.  217 

the  thirteenth  century.  These  first  historical  produc- 
tions in  the  French  language  were  written  by  men 
jengaged  in  active  life,  and  who  related  what  they  had 
seen ;  they  therefore  felt  the  necessity  of  abandoning 
the  language  of  poetry  to  express  themselves  in  that 
of  common  life.  The  characteristics  of  these  old 
memoirs  arc  simplicity,  united  with  piety  and  a  cere- 
monious courtesy.  The  first  of  these  memoir-writers 
was  Villehardouin,  who  wrote  a  remarkable  description 
of  the  capture  of  Constantinople  by  the  French  and 
Venitians,  in  which  he  had  himself  a  share.  He  was 
surpassed  by  Joinville,  the  seneschal  of  Champaigne, 
who  accompanied  St.  Louis  in  his  first  crusade,  in 
1248.  The  best  historian  of  France,  during  the  middle 
ages,  is  Comincs. 

The  latter  part  of  the  sixteenth  century  was  an  age 
of  verse  in  France,  and  at  no  subsequent  period  do  we 
find  so  long  a  catalogue  of  her  poets.  The  lives  of 
more  than  two  hundred  have  been  written,  who  belong 
to  this  Half  century  ;  but  scarcely  more  than  five  or  six 
of  them  are  now  much  remembered  even  in  their  own 
country.  Ronsard,  the  most  popular  of  these,  exhibits 
a  spirit  striving  upward,  disdaining  what  is  trivial,  and 
restless  in  the  pursuit  of  excellence  ;  but  he  wrote  bad 
and  tasteless  poetry.  After  the  appearance  of  Mai- 
herbe,  his  verses  fell  into  contempt ;  and  the  pure 
correctness  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  could  not  en- 
dure his  barbarous  innovations  and  false  taste. 

The   most  original  genius  which  French  literature 
has  produced   is  Rabelais.      He   was   born  about  the 
year  1483,  and  bred  an  ecclesiastic ;  but  his  irregu- 
lar life  led  to  the  abandonment  of  his  religious  pro- 
xvn.— 19 


218  FKEi\CH    LITEKaTURE. 

fession,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  medi- 
cine. Subsequently,  however,  he  returned  to  the 
priesthood.  His  Histories  of  Gargantua  and  Panta- 
gruel  constitute  an  extravagant  and  whimsical  satire,  in 
the  form  of  a  romance,  in  which  he  attacks  all  sorts  of 
monkish  and  other  follies  which  it  would  have  been 
unsafe  to  expose  in  a  graver  style.  In  these  works,  wit 
and  learning  are  scattered  in  great  profusion,  but  in  a 
very  wild  and  irregular  manner,  and  with  a  plentiful 
mixture  of  coarseness  and  obscenity  ;  but  the  obscurity 
of  his  language,  and  the  eccentricity  of  his  conceptions, 
have  always  baffled  commentators  in  their  attempts  at 
explanation  ;  and  he  is  now  read  more  for  the  pure 
whimsicality  of  his  jokes  and  allusions,  than  with  a 
regard  to  the  objects  of  his  satire. 

The  French  literature  of  the  middle  ages,  although 
rude,  had  the  merit  of  being  truly  national.  It  bears 
the  stamp  of  the  French  character,  and  gives  an  image 
of  the  civilization  of  those  times.  It  contained  the 
seeds  of  a  great  development ;  and  had  the  French 
writers  of  the  sixteenth  century  followed  the  tiack  of 
their  predecessors,  the  literature  of  their  country  would 
have  been  really  a  national  one,  and  something  very 
different  from  what  it  is  now.  But  under  Francis  I., 
the  study  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  authors  began  to 
spread  in  France  ;  and  the  French  writers,  dazzled  with 
the  hitherto  unknown  beauties  of  the  classical  writers, 
despised  the  worlcs  of  their  forefathers,  and  attached 
themselves  to  the  imitation  of  the  ancients.  The  na- 
tional recollections,  as  well  as  the  ideas  introduced  by 
Christianity,  were  replaced  by  the  history  and  my- 
thology of  Rome  and  Greece ;  and  thus  arose  the  so 


FRENCH    LITERATURE.  219 

called  Modern  Classical  School,  in  opposition  to  the 
romantic,  which  derives  its  materials  from  national 
elements.  A  still  greater  error  corrupted  French  lit- 
erature under  Francis  I.,  but  produced  its  most  debas- 
ing eflects  under  Louis  XIV.,  —  namely,  that  degrading 
flattery  exhibited  by  the  poets  toward  the  court  and  the 
great  men,  which  they  probably  acquired  by  studying 
the  base  adulations  of  the  writers  of  the  Augustan  age. 

The  era  of  Louis  XIV.  is  called  by  the  French  the 
golden  age  of  their  literature,  and  is  compared  by  them 
to  that  of  Augustus,  Pericles,  and  the  Medici.  Much 
was  done,  in  the  course  of  this  reign,  to  promote  science 
and  literature  in  France.  The  French  language  be- 
came a  universal  idiom  among  the  higher  ranks  of 
society  all  over  Europe,  and  the  French  prose  ac- 
quired that  degree  of  ease,  clearness,  and  precision, 
which  justly  entitle  it  to  be  considered,  in  those  respects, 
as  the  first  language  in  Europe.  The  French  Acad- 
emy greatly  contributed  to  purify  and  refine  the  lan- 
guage, but  at  the  same  time  imposed  upon  it  very 
heavy  trammels,  by  injudiciously  proscribing  every 
innovation.  It  severely  condemned  all  words  and  ex- 
pressions not  tolerated  at  court ;  and  this  circumstance 
has  certainly  given  to  the  French  language  that  refine- 
ment and  elegance  which  have  rendered  it  the  medium 
of  conversation  and  epistolary  intercourse  in  the  courts 
and  diplomacy  of  Europe  ;  but  it  had  also  the  effect 
of  emasculating  its  vigor,  and  introducing  a  mannerism 
into  the  style  of  many  French  writers,  who  have  sac- 
rificed the  matter  to  the  form. 

Before  we  proceed  to  notice  the  dramatic  authors  of 
France,  it  may  be  proper  to  say  a  few  words  of  the 


220  FRENCH    UTEEATURE. 

origin  of  the  modern  drama  in  Europe.  This  seems 
not  to  have  sprung  from  the  ancient  Greek  and  Roman 
theatrical  representations,  but  to  have  had  its  birth 
in  the  middle  ages.  The  mysteries,  which  were  the 
forerunners  of  the  present  drama,  had  their  immediate 
source  in  the  pilgrimages  to  the  Holy  Land,  about  the 
time  of  the  crusades.  The  pilgrims  used  to  compose 
rude  songs  on  their  travels,  containing  recitals  of  the 
life  and  death  of  Christ,  and  the  scenes  of  the  last 
judgment.  In  others,  they  celebrated  the  miracles  of 
saints,  their  martyrdoms,  and  divers  wonderful  visions 
and  apparitions.  These  pilgrims  going  in  companies, 
and  taking  their  stand  in  the  streets  and  public  places, 
where  they  sang  with  their  staves  in  their  hands,  and 
their  hats  and  mantles  covered  with  shells  and  painted 
images  of  various  colore,  formed  a  kind  of  spectacle 
which  pleased  the  public  of  that  day,  and  at  Paris 
excited  the  piety  of  some  of  the  citizens  to  raise  a  fund 
for  purchasing  a  proper  place  in  which  to  erect  a 
stage  whereon  these  performances  might  be  regularly 
exhibited  on  holidays,  as  well  for  the  instruction  of  the 
people  as  for  their  entertainment. 

The  suggestion  thus  made  was  rapidly  enlarged 
and  circulated.  New  places  of  representation  were 
opened,  stages  arose  in  every  province,  and  the  eccle- 
siastics, as  well  as  the  la3^men,  crowded  to  witness  the 
mysteries.  The  brethren,  to  vary  the  attractions  of  the 
performance,  added  farcical  interludes,  called  sotiises, 
or  fooleries,  which  were  performed  by  a  junior  society 
entitled  Eijfans  Sans  Souci.  The  stage  consisted  of 
several  scaffoldings,  representing  heaven,  earth,  and 
hell ;  the  latter  was  at  the  bottom,  and  at  the  mouth 


FRENCH    LITERATUEE.  221 

was  the  image  of  a  gaping  dragon,  whose  mouth  opened 
and  shut,  as  the  devils  made  their  entrance  and  exit. 

The  subjects  of  representation  were  chiefly  scrip- 
tural, and  the  deatli  of  Christ  was  the  favorite  theme. 
The  dramatis  persona:,  in  some  of  the  French  plays  of 
this  period,  are  God — the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the 
Holy  Ghost ;  the  Virgin  and  Joseph ;  archangels,  an- 
gels, apostles,  and  disciples;  Jewish  priests,  emperors, 
and  philosophers ;  magicians,  Lucifer,  Satan,  Beelze- 
bub, Belial,  Cerberus,  and  a  multitude  of  other  celestial, 
terrestrial,  and  infernal  personages,  amounting  alto- 
gether to  nearly  five  hundred. 

Thus,  in  France,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  the  theatre 
of  this  period  was  devoted  to  religion  and  sanctioned 
by  the  church.  To  the  mysteries  succeed  perform- 
ances called  moralities  and  farces,  which  were  in- 
vented by  the  clerks  of  the  lawyers  of  Paris.  These 
were  gradually  extended,  till  Etienne  .lodelle,  in  the 
time  of  Henry  II.,  brought  forward  his  Cleopatra  Cap- 
tive, a  tragedy  in  five  acts,  modelled  upon  the  plays  of 
Sophocles  and  Euripides.  This  was  the  beginning  of 
the  classical  drama  in  Paris,  which  for  so  long  a  period 
held  its  place  upon  the  French  stage.* 

Comeille,  whose  tragedies  are  justly  considered 
masterpieces  by  his  countrymen,  was  born  in  1606. 
He  peculiarly  excels  in  the  delineation  of  Roman 
characters,  having  made  himself  familiar  with  the 
lofty  spirit  which  actuated  the  sons  of  imperial  Rome, 
by  the  careful  study  of  her  historians.     His  most  es- 

*  For  a  further  account  of  the  mysteries,  sec  Lights  and 
Shadows  of  European  Ilistonf,  page  295. 


222  FRENCH   LITEBATURE. 

teemed  pieces  are  the  Cid,  the  Horatii,  and  the  Fo- 
lyeucte.  Racine,  who  was  born  in  1639,  enjoyed  the 
patronage  of  Louis  XIV.  His  tragedies  are  the  most 
elegant  and  finished  of  all  the  French  dramatic  works. 
Their  general  characteristics  are  tenderness,  elegance, 
good  taste,  refined  sentiment,  and  perfection  in  the  art 
of  versification.  In  the  higher  essentials  of  the  drama 
he  is  deficient ;  he  lacks  invention  of  character,  veri- 
similitude, and  genuine  pathos ;  he  rather  describes 
feeling  than  expresses  it.  The  introduction  of  love 
into  all  his  dramas  necessarily  adds  to  these  defects. 

The  most  popular  of  all  the  old  French  poets  is  La 
Fontaine,  with  whose  fables  every  one  is  familiar. 
Few  writers  have  left  such  a  number  of  verses,  which, 
in  the  phrase  of  his  country,  have  "  made  their  for- 
tune," and  been,  like  ready  money,  always  at  hand  for 
prompt  quotation.  His  verses  have  at  once  a  pro- 
verbial truth,  and  a  humor  of  expression,  which  render 
them  constandy  applicable  to  the  uses  of  life.  The 
models  of  his  style  were  partly  the  ancient  fabulists, 
whom  he  copied, —  for  he  pretends  to  no  originality, — 
and  partly  the  old  French  poets,  especially  Marot. 
From  the  one  he  took  the  real  gold  of  the  fables  them- 
selves, and  from  the  other  he  caught  a  peculiar  arch- 
ness and  vivacity.  Many  of  his  fables  are  admirable  ; 
the  grace  of  the  poetry,  the  happy  inspiration  that 
seems  to  have  dictated  the  turns  of  expression,  place 
him  in  the  first  rank  among  fabulists. 

The  satires  of  Boileau,  which  first  appeared  in  1666, 
are  characterized,  by  La  Harpe,  as  the  earliest  poetry 
in  the  French  language  where  the  mechanism  of  the 
verse  was  fully  understood,  where  the  style  was  always 


FRENCH   LITERATURE.  223 

pure  and  elegant,  and  where  the  ear  was  uniformly 
gratified.  By  writing  satires,  epistles,  and  an  "  Art  of 
Poetry,"  Boileau  has  challenged  an  obvious  comparison 
with  Horace  ;  yet  they  are  very  unlike  :  the  Latin  poet 
is  easy,  colloquial,  and  abandons  himself  to  every 
change  which  arises  in  his  mind  ;  the  Frenchman  is 
always  equal,  always  labored,  and  never  capable  of  a 
bold  neglect.  The  Lutrin  is  the  most  popular  of  the 
poems  of  Boileau,  and  although  its  subject  is  ill  chosen, 
its  poignant  wit,  and  the  elegance  of  its  couplets, 
justify  its  high  place  in  the  mock-heroic  line. 

Moliere,  is,  perhaps,  of  all  French  writers,  the  one 
whom  his  country  has  most  uniformly  admired,  and  in 
whom  her  critics  are  most  unwilling  to  discover  faults. 
He  began  to  write  for  the  stage  in  1653.  About  one 
half  his  plays  arc  in  verse.  The  French  have  claimed 
for  him  a  superiority  over  all  earlier  and  later  writers 
of  comedy.  He  certainly  leaves  Plautus,  the  original 
model  of  the  school  to  which  he  belongs,  at  a  vast 
distance.  The  grace  and  gentlemanly  elegance  of 
Terence  he  has  not  equalled  ;  but  in  the  more  appro- 
priate merits  of  comedy, — just  and  forcible  delineation 
of  character,  skilful  contrivance  of  circumstances,  and 
humorous  dialogue,  —  we  must  award  him  the  prize. 
Yet  we  cannot  place  him  above  Shaksperc,  who  had 
far  more  invention  of  character,  and  an  equal  vivacity 
and  force  in  their  delineations,  while  his  humor  was, 
at  least,  as  abundant  and  natural,  and  his  wit  in- 
comparably more  brilliant.  Shaksperc  had  much  the 
greater  genius,  although  Moliere,  perhaps,  wrote  the 
more  faultless  comedies. 

The  TeUmaque  of  Fcnelon,  after  being  suppressed 


224  FRENCH   LITERATURE. 

in  France,  appeared  in  Holland,  clandestinely,  in  1699. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  book  in  the  French  language  that 
has  been  more  read.  Fenelon  seems  to  have  con- 
ceived that,  metre  not  being  essential  to  poetry,  he 
had,  by  imitating  the  Odyssey,  in  Telemaque,  pro- 
duced an  epic  of  as  legitimate  a  character  as  his  model. 
Teleinaque,  however,  is  only  a  romance ;  but  no 
work  of  this  kind  had  before  breathed  so  classical  a 
spirit ;  none  had  abounded  so  much  with  the  rich- 
ness of  poetical  language. 

Pascal,  by  his  Provincial  Letters,  did  more  to  ruin 
the  name  of  Jesuit  than  all  the  controversies  of  Prot- 
estantism, or  all  the  fulminations  of  the  parliament  of 
Paris.  These  letters  are  written  with  the  greatest  ele- 
gance of  style,  and  abundance  of  wit ;  yet  the  pleasure 
of  reading  them  is  much  diminished  by  the  fact  of  their 
being  filled  with  obsolete  controversy,  and  quotations 
from  books  now  forgotten.  The  "  Thoughts  "  of  Pascal 
are  ranked  by  many  above  the  Provincial  Letters. 
The  eloquence  of  the  pulpit  reached  its  acme  in 
France  during  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. ;  and  the  sermons 
of  Bossuet,  Bordaloue,  Flechier,  and  Massillori,  among 
the  Roman  Catholics,  and  of  Saurin  among  the  Protes- 
tants, are  still  regarded  as  models  of  sacred  eloquence. 
The  art  of  elegant  letter-writing,  which  was  introduced 
by  Balzac  and  Voiture,  became,  in  France,  an  almost 
indispensable  accomplishment  of  well-educated  per- 
sons. Many  authors  of  this  period  have  left  admirable 
specimens  of  the  epistolary  style.  The  Letters  of  the 
Marquise  de  Sevigne  are  numbered  among  the  French 
classics.  From  the  authors  of  the  French  "  golden 
age,"  we  now  proceed  to  those  of  a  later  date. 


FRENCH    LITERATURE.  225 

No  writer  has  exerted  such  an  influence  upon  French 
literature  as  Voltaire.  This  celebrated  man  was  born 
in  1694.  He  began  to  compose  tragedies  at  the  age 
of  eighteen,  and  prosecuted  his  career,  as  an  author, 
till  his  death,  in  1778,  at  the  age  of  84.  He  was  a 
"  master  of  all  work"  in  literature,  and  his  productions 
fill  nearly  a  hundred  volumes.  His  talent  is  conspic- 
uous in  tragedy,  comedy,  history,  epic,  and  burlesque 
poetry,  romance,  criticism,  and  satire.  The  part  per- 
formed by  Voltaire,  in  his  long  and  extraordinary  life, 
was  of  too  strong  and  decided  a  cast,  as  regards  opin- 
ions which  agitate  and  divide  all  classes  of  mankind, 
not  to  have  operated  very  materially  on  the  numerous 
portraits  which  have  been  drawn  of  him.  His  physi- 
ognomy is  said  to  have  partaken  of  the  eagle  and  the 
monkey  ;  and  he  is  accordingly  esteemed  to  possess  the 
fire  and  rapidity  of  the  one,  and  the  mischievous  restless- 
ness and  petulance  of  the  other.  With  strong  percep- 
tions of  moral  excellence,  he  was  often  replete  with 
petty  designs,  disingenuous  and  capricious.  Of  a  tem- 
perament which  never  allowed  him  to  be  at  rest,  either 
in  mind  or  body,  he  was  a  philosopher  rather  in  his 
opinions  than  in  his  actions,  which  often  appeared  to  be 
guided  more  by  caprice  and  impulse  than  by  settled 
resolution  and  firmness  of  purpose.  He  had  been  ac- 
customed from  his  youth  to  pay  as  much  homage  to 
rank  and  wealth  as  his  vanity  would  permit ;  and  as 
his  manners  were  corrupt,  he  could  not  be  a  consistent 
friend  to  virtue  and  liberty,  though  he  might  occasion- 
ally be  captivated  by  their  charms. 

Voltaire  appears  to  have  been  most  anxious  for  his 
reputation  as  a  dramatist  and  poet.     His  Henriade  is 

0 


226  FRENCH    LITERATTTRE. 

the  only  decent  work,  in  French,  making  pretension  to 
the  epic  character.  It  displays  correctness  and  ele- 
vation of  thought,  well-drawn  characters,  striking  de- 
scriptions, and  harmonious  versification  ;  but  its  subject, 
taken  from  recent  and  well-known  history,  precludes 
the  exercise  of  that  invention  which  is  the  highest 
quality  of  the  epic  poet,  and  which,  indeed,  was  not 
Voltaire's  distinguishing  faculty.  As  a  dramatist,  he 
immediately  follows  Corneille  and  Racine  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  French,  and  perhaps  ranks  higher  than 
they  do  in  the  judgment  of  foreigners.  His  tragedies 
are  numerous,  and  the  greater  part  of  them  have  be- 
come stock  plays.  They  have  more  variety  of  style 
and  subject  than  those  of  Corneille  and  Racine,  and  are, 
on  the  whole,  more  interesting.  Voltaire  attempted 
comedy  with  less  success,  like  many  other  men  of 
brilliant  wit,  which  quality  rather  impedes  than  assists 
genuine  representation  of  life  and  manners. 

As  a  writer  of  history,  Voltaire  is  celebrated  for  his 
light,  rapid,  and  pervading  glance  at  events,  their 
causes  and  results.  A  liberal  and  humane  philosophy 
in  general  directs  his  pen ;  but  it  is  often  made  the  in- 
strument of  his  systematic  hostility  against  established 
opinions  and  forms,  in  which  he  does  not  scruple  to  em- 
ploy the  arts  of  misrepresentation.  His  style  in  prose 
may  be  regarded  as  perfect  in  its  kind,  which  is  the 
middle  species,  that  aims  neither  at  high  elegance  nor 
studied  refinement,  but  is  lively,  pointed,  in  unaffected 
good  taste,  and  admirably  adapted  to  light  and  fugitive 
pieces.  Voltaire's  writings,  in  this  department,  are 
among  the  happiest  of  their  class.  Their  general  pur- 
pose, when  not  stimulated  by  pereonal  distaste,  is  to 


FRENCH    LITERATURE.  227 

repel  what  he  deemed  usurpation  upon  human  reason 
in  every  quarter,  and  to  check  superstition,  intolerance, 
and  fanaticism.  It  has  been  the  lot  of  few  men  to 
work  a  more  rapid  change  in  the  opinions  of  mankind 
than  Voltaire.  Revealed  religion  was  the  object  of  his 
incessant  attacks  and  bitter  sarcasms ;  and  in  this  war- 
fare, he  made  use  of  every  advantage  which  he  could 
derive  from  his  talent  of  placing  things  in  a  ludicrous 
light,  unrestrained  by  any  regard  to  truth  or  decency. 
It  was  said  by  Montesquieu,  "  When  Voltaire  reads  a 
book,  he  makes  it,  and  then  he  writes  against  what  he 
has  made  i"  and  this,  in  fact,  is  the  real  secret  of  much 
of  his  wit. 

*  Voltaire's  popularity  is  less  at  the  present  day  than 

•  Voltaire's  name  •vs.s  Matio  Francis  Arouet,  that  of  Vol- 
taire being  an  invention  and  addition  of  his  own.  He  was  born 
near  Paris,  2d  Feb.  ICJO'l.  He  soon  displayed  superior  genius, 
and  became  an  author  at  an  early  period.  He,  however,  devoted 
much  of  his  time,  with  avaricious  eagerness,  to  commerce,  in 
which  he  amassed  a  great  deal  of  money.  He  rose  to  great 
distinction,  and  was  made  historiographer  of  France  and 
gentleman  of  the  bedchamber.  But  his  bitter  writings  raised 
up  a  host  of  enemies,  and  he  took  refuge  from  them  at 
Berlin,  with  Frederic  the  Great.  Here  he  soon  quarrelled 
with  a  member  of  the  Academy,  and  consequently  left 
Prussia  in  disgrace.  The  publication  of  an  obscene  poem 
rendering  his  return  to  Paris  dangerous,  he  fixed  his  resi- 
dence at  Ferney,  in  Switzerland,  where  he  lived  for  many 
years  in  retirement.  In  February,  177S,  he  went  to  Paris, 
where,  in  tlio  enjoyment  of  wealth  and  reputation,  he  lived 
till  May,  when  he  expired. 

The  talents  of  Voltaire  were  of  the  higliest  order;  but  as 
a  man,  he  was  inconstant,  faithless,  mean,  and  in  the  highest 
degree  selfish.     His  great  defect  was  the  entire  want  of  a 


228  FRENCH    LITBRATURE. 

it  was  during  his  lifetime.  What  proportion  of  his 
voluminous  works  will  go  down  to  posterity  cannot  be 
predicted  ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  name 
will  always  remain  among  the  most  conspicuous  in 
the  literary  histoiy  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Rousseau,  born  at  Geneva  in  1712,  is  esteemed  the 
most  eloquent  writer  of  his  age.  He  exercised  a  great 
influence  over  the  theoretical  opinions  of  the  day  at  the 
commencement  of  the  French  revolution,  when  his 
political  tract  entitled  the  Social  Contract  was  a  fa- 
vorite authority.  He  is  best  known  by  his  novel  of 
the  Nouvelle  Heloise,  which,  in  warmth  of  painting  and 
eloquence  of  sentiment,  has  perhaps  no  superior  among 
works  of  its  class  ;  but,  with  occasional  deep  knowl- 
edge of  the  human  heart,  it  abounds  ivith  inconsistency 
and  improbability.  His  ^mile,  or  Treatise  on  Educa- 
tion, which  some  regard  as  his  principal  work,  contains 
many  important  truths,  but  tliey  are  alloyed  by  sophis- 
tries and  absurdities  :  and  bi-s  whole  scheme  is  altogether 
visionary.     Rousseau  *  wrote  also  dramatic  and  other 

moral  basis  upon  which  to  found  his  actions  —  an  evil  the 
direct  and  necessary  consequence  of  the  deism  which  he 
avowed.  He  is,  more  than  any  other  man,  responsible  for  the 
pervading  infidelity  of  his  countrymen,  and  that  materialism 
which  seems  to  pervade  the  philosophy  of  life,  among  a 
large  portion  of  the  French  nation. 

*  John  James  Rousseau  was  the  son  of  a  watchmaker,  and, 
to  this  day,  the  house  where  he  was  born  is  pointed  out 
in  Geneva.  He  raised  himself  to  distinction  by  his  literary 
abilities,  and  excited  the  interest  of  many  distinguished  men 
in  his  behalf;  but  his  temper  was  irritable,  and  he  was  beset 
by  a  morbid  jealousy,  which  induced  him  to  spurn  the  most 
disinterested  acts  of  kindness.     He  lived  an  unsettled  and 


FRENCH    LITERATURE.  229 

works,  all  more  or  less  marked  with  his  peculiar 
warmth,  energy  of  style,  and  vigor  of  thinking. 

The  present  state  of  French  literature,  extensive 
and  interesting  as  is  the  subject,  can  only  be  briefly 
noticed.  The  violent  changes  which  the  revolution 
produced  in  the  social  state  of  France,  had  a  corre- 
sponding effect  on  the  national  character  and  literature, 
which  in  France,  more  than  any  other  country,  may  be 
regarded  as  the  true  picture  of  the  public  mind.  The 
revolution,  although  not  favorable  to  letters,  produced  a 
rapid  development  of  eloquence,  and  also  broke  the 
trammels  imposed  by  the  Academy  on  the  language. 
Under  Napoleon,  the  practical  sciences  were  more  pat- 
ronized than  elegant  literature ;  and  it  was  not  till  the 
restoration  of  the  Bourbons  that  the  latter  began  to 
revive.  The  most  distinguished  French  poets  of  the 
present  century  are  Le  Brun,  Lamartine,  Delille,  De- 
lavigne,  and  Beranger,  to  whom  may  be  added  Chateau- 
briand, who  must  be  regarded  as  a  poet,  although  his 
writings  are  not  in  verse. 

Of  these,  Beranger,  who  is  still  living,  is  by  far  the 
most  popular :  his  songs  and  odes  are  in  the  mouth  of 
every  Frenchman,  and  arc  remarkable  for  their  wit, 
eloquence,  and  satire.  His  distinguishing  peculiarity  is 
the  mixture  of  gayety  and  pathos,  which  he  combines 
with  the  happiest  effect,  and  his  writings  exhibit  an 
elegance  of  diction,  a  facility  of  expression,  and  a 
harmony  of  versification,  not  exceeded  by  any  thing  in 
the   French  language.      We  subjoin  a  translation  of 

restless  life  for  many  years,  until  at  last  ho  sought  retirement, 
and  for  a  time  seemed  to  enjoy  repose.     lie  died  at  Erme- 
nonvillc,  thirty  miles  from  Paris,  1778,  aged  66. 
xvn.— 20 


230  rnENcii  literature. 

one  of  his  pieces,  although  the  inimitaoie  grace  of  h' 
style  can  hardly  be  expected  in  English. 

Song  of  the  Cossack. 

"  Thou  steed,  the  Cossack's  noble  friend, 
Bound  to  the  trumpet  of  the  North  ! 

Once  more  the  winds  their  pinions  lend 
To  that  wild  war-note  issuing  forth. 

Come,  bathe  thy  seething  flanks  again 

In  the  red  streams  of  rebel  Seine  ! 

Snort,  my  proud  courser !  for  we  go 

To  trample  kings  and  nations  low. 

Thou  fret'st  not  silver  with  thy  foam  ; 

Gold  decks  not  now  thy  saddle-bow  ; 
But  where  our  squadrons  make  their  home, 

Ours  are  the  treasures  of  the  foe  : 
And  thou  ere  long  shalt  find  a  stall 
In  arched  dome  of  royal  hall. 

Kings,  prelates,  nobles,  fiercely  pressed 

By  vassals  struggling  to  be  free, 
Have  cried,  '  Approach,  thou  Tartar  guest ! 

To  reign  o'er  them,  we'll  crouch  to  thee.' 
I  seize  my  lance,  —  and  cross  and  crown 
Before  that  signal  bow  them  down. 

A  giant  phantom  met  my  view. 

With  bloodshot  eye  and  regal  vest : 

He  cried,  '  My  reign  begins  anew  !  ' 
And  shook  his  war-axe  o'er  the  West. 

King  of  the  Huns,  our  tribes  inherit 

Thine  ancient  realm,  thine  ancient  spirit. 

All  Europe's  dower  of  ancient  fame  — 
Arts,  temples,  learning,  laws  and  rites  — 


FRENCH   LITERATURE.  231 

Shall  vanish  hence  in  dust  and  flame, 
Where'er  tliy  burning  hoof  alights ; 
For  where  the  Cossack's  toot  hath  gone, 
The  desert's  peace  must  reign  alone  ! 
On,  my  proud  courser  !  for  we  go 
To  trample  kings  and  nations  low." 

Among  the  recent  French  writers  on  natural  science, 
we  might  mention  the  great  names  of  Cuvier  and  La- 
place ;  among  the  historians,  Thierry,  Guizot,  Thiers, 
and  Dumas  ;  among  the  miscellaneous  writers,  Madame 
de  Slael,  Madame  de  Genlis,  and  Jouy  ;  among  par- 
liamentary oratoi-s,  Mirabeau,  Tollendal,  and  many 
others  ;  but  our  space  forbids  even  a  recital  of  the 
lengthened  catalogue. 

Novels  arc  exceedingly  abundant  in  France,  but 
most  of  them  delight  in  scenes  of  horror  and  blood- 
shed. Among  them,  the  most  remarkable  are  those 
by  Eugene  Sue,  which  display  talent,  but  are  unnat- 
ural in  their  scenes,  and  utterly  false  in  their  moral 
basis  and  sentiment.  Victor  Hugo  holds  a  still  higher 
rank  with  his  countrymen;  and,  if  not  of  superior 
genius,  he  greatly  surpasses  Sue  in  his  art.  He  dis- 
plays a  powerful  imagination,  deep  feeling,  and  a  pro- 
found knowledge  of  the  human  heart ;  but  his  works 
are  all  disfigured  by  that  extravagance  and  rage  for  the 
horrible  which  seem  to  be  a  chief  ingredient  of  modem 
French  romance.  There  are  many  other  writers  who 
enjoy  a  large  share  of  popularity.  The  press  of  France 
is  very  active,  and  almost  every  imaginable  subject  is 
treated  of  in  books. 

It  may  be  remarked,  in  general,  that  French  litera- 
ture now  presents  an  aspect  which  would  hardly  be 


232  FRENCH    LITERATUnE. 

recognized  by  a  writer  of  tlie  age  of  Louis  XIV.  With 
the  overthrow  of  the  ancien  regime  in  politics,  fell 
the  main  support  of  the  old  dramatic  code ;  and  a 
revolution  in  art  and  literature  has  followed  the  polit- 
ical I'evolution,  although  the  old  system  still  has  its 
adherents.  French  literature  is  now  divided  between 
the  classicists,  or  disciples  of  the  old  school,  and  the 
romanticists,  of  the  new.  Delavigne  is  at  the  head  of 
the  former,  and  Victor  Hugo  of  the  latter.  The 
higher  departments  of  the  drama  are  now  assiduously 
cultivated  by  both  parties.  Comedy  seems  to  be  the 
most  flourishing ;  and  the  classic  reputation  of  Moliere 
enables  his  plays  to  maintain  their  places  on  the  stage, 
although  in  tone  and  manners  they  are  altogether  ob- 
solete. 


^rx/^i^ 


SLAVONIAN    LITERATURE. 


It  is  asserted  that  more  than  sixty  millions  of  people 
speak  the  Slavonian  dialects,  and  that  they  occupy  near- 
ly one  half  of  the  tcrritoiy  of  Europe.  Whence  these 
people  came,  and  how  they  spread,  is  an  inquiry  with 
which  many  authors  have  occupied  themselves  in  vain. 
Under  the  name  of  Goths,  Vandals,  Huns,  Slavi,  and 
Sarmatians,  they  have  been  confounded  by  writers 
who  knew  nothing  of  their  language,  literature,  or  his- 
tory. The  Slavonian  tribes  may,  however,  be  ar- 
ranged into  eight  great  classes  —  namely,  the  Russian, 
Servian,  Croatian,  Wendish,  Bohemian,  Slovakian,  Po- 
lish, and  Serbian.  Russia  has  about  forty-five  millions 
of  Slavonian  subjects;  Austria,  fifteen  millions;  and  the 
remainder  chiefly  belong  to  Turkey. 

The  Slavonian  language  is  generally  considered  as 
of  Hindoo  origin,  which  supposition  is  founded  on  the 
great  number  of  Sanscrit  roots  which  it  contains,  as 
well  as  on  some  traces  of  a  similar  origin  exhibited  in 
the  religion  of  the  ancient  Slavonians,  of  which  the 
most  striking  examples  are  the  burning  of  widows  on 
the  funeral  piles  of  their  husbands,  and  the  idol  of 
Sviatovid,  represented  with  four  heads.  The  different 
Slavonian  dialects  are  distinguished  by  the  richness  of 
their  vocabulary,  which  consists  not  only  in  the  great 
20* 


234  SLAVONIAN    LITEBATUEE, 

number  of  words  or  synonymes,  but  also  in  the  num- 
ber of  inflections,  both  at  the  beginning  and  the  end  of 
words,  which  gives  a  facility  of  creating  from  one 
radical  word  an  extraordinary  number  of  derivatives. 
The  Slavonian  languages  possess  great  expressiveness 
and  energy,  and  are  able  to  represent  every  object  of 
imagination  and  passion,  as  well  as  all  the  higher 
emotions  of  the  poet  and  the  orator,  in  a  manner  not 
inferior  to  any  modern  language,  and  superior  to 
many.  The  Slavonian  alphabet  differs  from  all  others, 
and  was  originally  formed  on  the  model  of  the  Greek. 

The  Russian  language  may  be  divided  into  three 
dialects  —  the  Muscovite,  which,  since  the  time  of  Peter 
the  Great,  has  constituted  the  literary  language  of  Rus- 
sia ;  the  dialect  of  Southern  Russia  ;  and  that  of  White 
Russia.  The  Muscovite  participates  in  all  the  merits 
of  all  the  other  Slavonian  languages,  and  has  received 
new  riches  from  modern  writers.  The  Russian  people 
have  no  ancient  popular  literature,  and  no  poetry  exists 
in  their  language  of  an  earlier  date  than  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  history  of  the  language  is  wholly  lost ; 
but  it  was  greatly  influenced,  no  doubt,  by  the  transla- 
tions from  the  Bible,  and  by  the  works  of  the  ecclesias- 
tical annalists.  The  irruptions  of  the  Tartars  produced 
no  change ;  but  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies, the  Sarmatian  branch  obtained  considerable  as- 
cendency from  the  residence  of  a  number  of  Russian 
writers  in  the  universities  of  Poland,  then  the  most  in- 
telligent and  cultivated  of  all  the  Slavonic  nations. 
Under  Peter  the  Great,  the  German  and  Latin  tongues 
introduced  a  great  number  of  new  terms.  During  the 
reign  of  the  empress  Elizabeth,  the  Russian  language 


SLAVONIAN    LITERATURE.  235 

was  completely  Gallicized ;  but  Catherine  restored  its 
characteristic  nationality. 

The  Annals  of  Nestor  are  the  earliest  Russian  his 
torical  records  which  exist.  They  are  very  valuable 
and  obviously  the  production  of  an  ingenuous  and  vig 
orous  mind.  In  the  records  of  Psov  and  Novgorod 
much  of  interesting  episode,  and  many  pathetic  pas 
sages,  are  blended  with  the  dry  details  of  passing  events 
These,  and  a  code  of  laws,  are  almost  all  that  has 
been  left  to  illustrate  the  historical  antiquity  of  the 
nation.  Among  the  poetic  names  which  have  been 
preserved  out  of  the  ruins  of  old  times,  there  is  one 
which,  though  but  a  name,  is  religiously  venerated  in 
Russia.  This  is  Boyon,  the  "  Nightingale,"  as  he  is 
called,  whom  tradition  has  cherished  as  the  bard  who 
led  the  old  Russian  warriors  to  battle,  and  enabled  them 
to  work  miracles  of  valor  by  the  magic  excitement  of 
his  strains.  This  northern  Tyrtjeus  still  lives  in  the 
universal  mind  of  the  country,  though  not  a  single 
breath  of  his  lyre  has  found  its  way  to  the  existing 
generation.  In  a  warlike  and  anonymous  fragment, 
written  in  the  dialect  of  Southern  Russia,  in  measured 
prose,  a  fine  spirit  of  heroism  is  mingled  with  the  ob- 
scurity of  a  forgotten  mythology.  This  appears  to  be 
of  the  twelfth  century ;  but,  for  three  hundred  years 
after  this,  there  is  a  perfect  chasm.  The  song  of  the 
Battle  of  the  Don,  a  pictorial,  unornamented  narrative, 
is  the  only  production  worth  notice  till  the  epoch  of 
Peter  the  Great. 

Under  this  great  reformer,  every  species  of  knowl- 
edge and  cultivation  was  planted  in  Russia.  Kante- 
mir  introduced  the  insipid  and  monotonous  versification 


236  SLAVONIAN    LITERATURE. 

of  the  French  ;  yet  he  opened  the  floodgates  of  Eu- 
ropean learning,  and  prepared  the  way  for  great  im- 
provennents.  Lomonosov  was  the  son  of  a  poor 
sailor.  His  mind  received  its  deepest  impressions  from 
the  poetry  of  the  Old  Testament,  whose  sublimity  he 
transferred  to  his  own  language,  creating  all  those  ele- 
ments of  strength  and  harmony  which  he  wielded  with 
a  sovereign  hand.  He  enriched  the  literature  of  his 
country  by  purifying  and  fixing  the  standard  of  lan- 
guage ;  he  dragged  from  obscurity  its  historical 
annals ;  he  introduced  the  study  of  experimental 
philosophy ;  he  established  the  rules  of  poetry,  and 
decorated  every  subject  with  eloquence.  Sumarokov 
founded  the  Russian  theatre  ;  but  he  left  the  language 
of  the  country  nearly  as  he  found  it ;  and  his  dramatic 
pieces  have  neither  originality  nor  nationality  of 
character. 

Catherine  the  Second,  in  the  midst  of  her  follies  and 
vices,  had  a  most  decided  passion  for  literature,  and  no 
small  literary  ambition.  She  sometimes  wrote  poetry, 
and  forgot  her  vast  schemes  of  ambitious  domination  in 
plans  of  intellectual  reform.  While  she  sent  forth  her 
generals  on  most  unrighteous  missions,  she  founded 
academies  and  patronized  schools  ;  and  to  the  present 
hour,  in  spite  of  the  foul  deeds  and  strange  caprices 
of  her  reign,  she  is  spoken  of  with  reverential  affection 
by  the  "Russians.  In  her  time  Petrov,a  bold  and  spirited 
lyric  poet,  sang  the  triumphs  of  Orlov.  Kheraskov 
sought  inspiration  from  the  epic  muse  ;  his  style  is  flow- 
ing, but  affected  and  diffuse.  In  his  Vladimir  and  Rus- 
siad  are  many  passages  which  are  strikingly  pictorial, 
but  he  wrote  too  much  to  write  well ;  he  attempted  every 


SLAVONIAN    LITERATUEE.  237 

species  of  poetry,  but  succeeded  perfectly  in  none. 
Vou  Visin  gave  an  air  of  nationality  to  the  Russian 
drama,  and  seized  with  great  success  some  of  the  pe- 
culiarities of  his  nation,  especially  the  frivolous  pride 
and  folly  of  the  lower  nobility.  Kapnist  gave  to  com- 
edy all  tlie  bitterness  of  satire,  while  his  serious  odes  are 
grand  and  noble,  and  his  shorter  pieces  gracefully  and 
delicately  wrought. 

The  best  known  of  all  the  Russian  poets  beyond  the 
limits  of  his  country  is  Derzhavin,  who  died  in  1816. 
There  is  no  bound  to  the  eulogiums  with  which  his  coun- 
trymen speak  of  this  distinguished  man.  In  order  to 
show  the  reader  the  extent  to  which  the  spirit  of  Orient- 
al exaggeration  has  pervaded  the  literature  of  Russia, 
we  quote  the  encomium  of  Bestujev  u[)on  Derzhavin ; 
for  it  is  curious  and  characteristic. 

"The  glory  of  his  nation  and  of  his  age  —  the  inspired,  the 
inimitable  bard  —  he  soared  to  a  height  which  none  before 
had  reached,  and  none  will  ever  reach  again.  A  poet  and  a 
philosopher,  his  similes  brought  truth  to  the  ear  of  princes. 
His  mysterious  influence  could  enliven  the  soul,  enrapture 
the  heart,  excite  the  attention  by  rapid  thoughts,  and  bold 
eloquence,  and  glorious  pictures.  Ilis  style  is  irresistible  as 
the  lightning-flash,  and  luxuriant  as  the  lap  of  nature.  So 
when  the  sunbeam  falls  on  the  brilliant  diamond  which  has 
long  been  buried  in  obscurity,  its  rays  burst  forth  in  magnif- 
icent brightness  :  —  so,  ere  the  eruption  breaks  from  the  triple- 
recioncd  Vesuvius,  its  smoke  is  veiled  bcnoatii  the  sheltering 
snows,  while  the  traveller  looks  upon  the  dark  mists,  and 
foretells  the  coming   storm  !  '" 

This,  it  will  be  allowed,  is  sufficiently  laudatory  ;  but 
Derzhavin  was  unquestionably  a  poet  of  a  high  order. 
His  "  Ode  to  God  "  is  deservedly  celebrated.     Captain 


238  SLAVONIAN    LITERATURE. 

Golownin,  in  the  nan-ative  of  his  adventures  in  Japan, 
informs  us  that  it  has  been  translated  into  Japanese  by 
order  of  the  emperor,  and  hung  up,  embroidered  with 
gold,  in  the  temple  of  Jeddo.  A  similar  honor  has 
been  done  to  this  poem  in  China.  We  shall  quote  it 
here  in  Bowring's  translation  :  — 

"  O  thou  Eternal  One  !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide ; 

Unchanged  through  time's  all-devastating  flight, 
Thou  only  God  :  —  there  is  no  God  beside  ! 

Being  above  all  beings  !     Three  in  one  ! 

Whom  none  can  comprehend,  and  none  explore, 

Who  fill'st  existence  with  thyself  alone, 
Embracing  all  —  supporting  —  ruling  o'er  : 
Being  whpm  we  call  God  —  and  know  no  more  ! 

In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean-deep,  may  count 
The  sands,  or  the  sun's  rays  ;  but,  God  !  for  Thee 

There  is  no  weight  nor  measure  :    none  can  mount 
Up  to  thy  mysteries  :   Reason's  brightest  spark. 

Though  kindled  by  thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 
To  trace  thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark ; 

And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high. 

E'en  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 

Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 
First  chaos,  then  existence.  —  Lord  !  on  Thee 

Eternity  had  its  foundation  :  all 

Sprang  forth  from  Thee  —  of  light,  joy,  harmony, 

Sole  origin ;  all  life,  all  beauty  thine. 
Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create  : 

Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 

Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be  !  glorious,  great, 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate  I 


SLAVONIAN    LITEKATURE.  239 

Thy  chains  th'  unmeasured  universe  surround, 
Upheld  by  Thee,  by  Thee  inspired  with  breath  ! 

Thou  the  beginning  with  the  end  hast  bound, 
And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  death. 

As  sparks  mount  upward  from  the  fiery  blaze, 

So  suns  are  born,  so  worlds  spring  forth  from  Thee ; 

And  as  the  spangles  in  the  sunny  rays 

Shine  round  the  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 
Of  heaven's  bright  army  glitters  in  thy  praise. 

A  million  torches,  lighted  by  thy  hand, 

Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss  ; 
They  own  thy  power,  accomplish  thy  command  ; 

All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 
What  shall  we  call  them  ?     Piles  of  crystal  light  — 

A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams  — 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether,  burning  bright  — 

Sun-lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams  : 
But  Thou  to  these  art  as  the  moon  to  night. 

Yes  !   as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea, 

All  this  magnificence  in  Thee  is  lost. 
What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  Thee  ' 

And  what  am  1  then .'     Heaven's  unnumbered  ho*"!. 
Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought. 
Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance  weighed. 

Against  thy  greatness.  —  Is  a  cipher  brought 

Against  infinity  .'  —  What  am  1  then  .-'  — Nought 

Nought !     But  the  eflluenco  of  thy  light  divine, 
Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom  too ; 

Yes  !   in  my  spirit  doth  th}'  spirit  shine, 
As  shines  the  8unl)eam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 

Nought !     But  1  live,  and  on  liope's  pinions  fly 
Eager  towards  thy  presence ;  for  in  Thee 

I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell,  aspiring  high. 


240  SLAVONIAN    LITERATtlRE. 

Even  to  the  throne  of  thy  divinity. 

1  am,  O  God  !  and  surely  Thou  must  be  ! 

Thou  art !  directing,  guiding  all.  Thou  art ! 

Direct  my  understanding,  then,  to  Thee  : 
Control  my  spirit,  guide  my  wandering  heart; 

Though  but  an  atom  midst  immensity, 
Still  I  am  something  fashioned  by  thy  hand  : 

1  hold  a  middle  rank  'twixt  heaven  and  earth , 
On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand, 

Close  to  the  realms  where  angels  have  their  birth, 
Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit-land ! 

The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me  : 
In  me  is  matter's  last  gradation  lost ; 

And  the  next  step  is  spirit —  Deit}^ ! 

1  can  command  the  lightning,  and  am  dus*. ' 

A  monarch  and  a  slave  ;  a  worm,  a  god  ! 

Whence  came  I  here,  and  how  ?     So  marvellously 

Constructed  and  conceived  ?  unkrcwn  !  This  clod 
Lives  surely  through  some  higher  energy  : 
For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be  ! 

Creator  !  yes,  thy  wisdom  and  thy  word 

Created  me.     Thou  source  of  life  and  good  ! 

Thou  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord  ! 

Thy  light,  thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude 

Filled  me  Math  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
O'er  the  ab3'ss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 

The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 

Its  heavenly  flight,  beyond  this  little  sphere, 
E'en  to  its  source  —  to  Thee  —  its  Author  there. 

O  thoughts  ineffable  !     O  visions  blest ! 

Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  Thee, 
yet  shall  thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 

And  waft  its  homage  to  thy  Deity. 


SLAVONIAN    LfTERATUEE.  241 

God  !  thus  alone  my  lowly  thoughts  can  soar ; 
Thus  seek  thy  presence.  —  Being  wise  and  good  ' 

'Midst  thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore ; 

And  wlien  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more, 
The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude." 

Karamsin,  the  author  of  the  following  verses,  is  a 
voluminous  writer  on  various  subjects,  and  is  especially 
distinguished  for  a  History  of  Russia,  He  was  born 
m  1765. 

The  Churchyard. 

FIRST    VOICE. 

''  How  frightful  the  grave  !     How  deserted  and  drear  ! 
With  the  howls  of  the  storm-wind,  the  shrieks  of  the  bier, 
And  the  white  bones  all  clattering  together ! 

SECOND    VOICE. 

How  peaceful  the  grave  !     Its  quiet  how  deop  ! 
Its  zephyrs  breatlie  calmly,  and  soft  is  its  sleep. 
And  flowerets  perfume  it  with  ether. 

FIRST    VOICE. 

There  riots  the  blood-crested  worm  on  the  dead, 
And  the  yellow  skull  serves  the  foul  toad  for  a  bed, 
And  snakes  in  its  nettle-weeds  hiss. 

SECOND    VOICE. 

How  lowly,  how  lone  the  repose  of  the  tomb  ! 
No  tempests  are  there  ;  but  the  nightingales  come, 
And  sing  their  sweet  chorus  of  bliss. 

FIRST    VOICE. 

The  ravens  of  night  flap  their  wings  o'er  the  grave ; 
'Tis  the  vulture's  abode;  'tis  the  wolf's  dreary  cave, 
Where  they  tear  up  the  earth  with  their  fangs. 
•  p      xvii. — 21 


242  SLAVONIAN    LITERATURE. 

SECOND    VOICE. 

There  the  cony  at  evening  disports  with  his  love, 
Or  rests  on  the  sod,  while  the  turtles  above 
Repose  on  the  bough  that  o'erhangs. 

FIRST    VOICE. 

There  darkness  and  dampness,  with  poisonous  breath, 
And  loathsome  decay,  fill  the  dwelling  of  death. 
The  trees  are  all  barren  and  bare  .' 

SECOND    VOICE. 

O,  soft  are  the  breezes  that  play  round  the  tomb. 
And  sweet  with  the  violet's  walled  perfume. 
With  lilies  and  jessamine  fair. 

FIRST    VOICE. 

The  pilgrim  who  reaches  this  valley  of  tears. 
Would  fain  hurry  by,  and  with  trembling  and  fears 
He  is  launched  on  the  wreck-covered  river. 

SECOND    VOICE. 

The  traveller,  outworn  with  life's  pilgrimage  dreary, 
Lays  down  his  rude  staff  like  one  that  is  weary. 
And  sweetly  reposes  forever. 

The  Russian  drama  was  founded  by  Sumarokov 
and  Volkov  about  a  century  ago.  Heroical  epics  have 
6een  written  by  Lomonosov  and  others ;  and  Russian 
literature  is  by  no  means  deficient  in  poetical  composi 
tions  of  a  lighter  character,  and  in  prose  romances. 
The  present  generation  of  Russian  writers  are  produ- 
cing many  useful  historical  works. 

The  Polish  language  is  considered  to  be  more  flex- 
ible and  euphonious  than  most  of  the  other  Slavonian 
dialects.     In  conciseness  of  expression  it  can  scarcely 


SLAVONIAN   LITEEATURE.  243 

be  surpassed  by  any  otlier  language.  It  can  imitate 
with  great  ease  the  beauties  of  classical  prose,  but  it 
has  not  the  same  cajjabilities  for  poetry. 

The  language  of  Servia  is  the  softest  and  sweetest 
of  all  the  Slavonic  idioms.  Almost  all  its  words  have 
vowel  terminations.  In  many  respects  the  Servian 
ballads  resemble  the  Spanish,  and  are  impressed  with  a 
similar  Oriental  character.  A  Servian  peasant  chant- 
ing to  the  tones  of  the  gusle,  a  rude  stringed  instru- 
ment, one  of  their  heroic  songs,  is  the  very  counterpart 
of  an  Andalusian  romancero  striking  the  chords  of  his 
guitar  to  one  of  his  national  strains.  The  Servians 
have,  strictly  speaking,  no  written  history  ;  and  al- 
though they  number  nearly  five  millions  of  men,  the 
deeds  of  their  ancestors  have  no  prose  records  familiar 
to  the  people.  But  they  have  rich,  almost  inexhaust- 
ible stores  of  popular  poetry  —  a  species  of  poetry  char- 
acterizing their  habitual  pursuits,  their  daily  impres- 
sions, and  their  prominent  associations.  This  poetry 
is  their  history,  and  the  faithful  picture  of  themselves. 
It  is  the  versification  of  strong  and  simple  feelings, 
encumbered  by  few  epithets,  swelled  by  few  exaggera- 
tions, and  simple  and  flowing  in  structure.  Their  pas- 
toral habits,  too,  their  climate,  and  their  country,  are 
far  more  favorable  to  song  than  those  of  the  more 
northern  Slavonians.  As  they  have  little  intercourse 
with  foreigners,  so  their  poetry  is  original  and  na- 
tional. 

Of  the  pastoral  and  domestic  poetry,  which  consists 
of  short  lyrical  ballads,  and  songs  used  in  their  several 
festivals,  and  illustrative  of  the  manners  and  habits  of 
the  people,  we  will  extract  the  following  specimens :  — 


244  SLAVONIAN    LITERATUKE. 


The  Servian  Youth  to  a  Traveller. 

"  O  leave  me  !     O  leave  me  ! 
My  wants  are  supplied,  and  my  steed  is  the  fleetest 
That  dwells  in  our  vales,  and  ray  love  is  the  sweetest. 

The  sweetest  of  maidens.     O  leave  me  ! 

You  do  not,  you  cannot  deceive  me. 

You  say  there  are  brighter 
And  richer  domains  than  the  land  of  our  tillage, 
And  cities  to  which  our  Belgrade  is  a  village  : 

But  go  to  my  love,  and  invite  her ; 

Will  your  lands  and  your  cities  delight  her  ? 

O,  no  !  she  will  tell  thee 
That  the  place  of  our  birth  of  all  places  is  dearest, 
That  the  heart  curls  its  tendrils  round  that  which  is  nearest 
She  will  smile  at  thy  tales  of  the  wealthy, 
And  to  shame  and  to  silence  compel  thee. 

Then  go,  thou  false  rover ! 

We  will  cling  to  the  scenes  which  our  infancy  clung  to ; 

We  will  sing  the  old  songs  which  our  fathers  have  sung  too 
To  our  country  be  true  as  a  lover, 
Till  its  green  sod  our  ashes  shall  cover." 

Lepota. 

"  Lepota  went  out  to  the  harvest ;  she  held 

A  sickle  of  silver  in  fingers  of  gold  : 
And  the  sun  mounted  high  o'er  the  parched  harvest  field, 

And  the  maiden  in  song  all  her  sympathies  told. 
'  I'll  give  my  white  forehead  to  him  who  shall  bind 
All  the  sheaves  which  my  sickle  leaves  scattered  behind ; 
I'll  give  my  black  eyes  to  the  friend  who  shall  bring 
A  draught  of  sweet  water  just  fresh  from  the  spring ; 


SLAVONIAN   LITERATURE.  245 

And  to  him  who  shall  bear  me  to  rest  in  the  shade, 
I  will  be  —  and  for  aye  —  an  affectionate  maid.' 

She  thought  that  her  words  were  all  wasted  on  air, 
But  a  shepherd,  just  watching  his  sheeplbld,  was  there; 
And  he  flew,  and  with  sedges  he  bound  all  the  sheaves, 
And  he  made  her  an  arbor  of  hazel-wood  leaves; 
And  he  ran  to  the  spring,  and  he  brought  the  sweet  water, 
And  he  looked  on  the  face  of  beauty's  young  daughter, 
And  he  said,  '  Lovely  maiden,  thy  promise  1  claim  !  ' 
But  the  cheeks  of  the  maiden  were  covered  with  shame, 
And  she  said  to  the  shepherd,  while  blushing,  '  No,  no  ! 
Go  back  to  thy  sheeplbld,  thou  wanderer,  go  ! 
For  if  thou  didst  bind  the  loose  sheaves,  thou  hast  left 
Thy  sheep  in  the  stubble  to  wander  bereft ; 
And  if  from  the  fountain  the  water  thou  bearedst, 
Of  its  freshness  and  coolness  thou  equally  sharedst ; 
And  if  thou  hast  reared  up  an  arbor  of  shade, 
For  thyself,  as  for  me,  its  refreshment  was  made.'  " 

The  subjection  of  the  females  to  their  male  relations  is 
curiously  exemplified  in  the  following  simple  ballad  •  — 

Fana. 

"  Sweet  Pana  in  the  rye-grass  slept. 

And  Rade  to  her  presence  crept : 

'  Sweet  Pana,  mine  consent  to  be  !  '  — 

'  What,  Rade,  wilt  thou  give  for  me  .' ' 

'  Sweet  Pana,  treasures  thou  shalt  hold  ;  '  — 

'  My  brothers,  Rade,  want  no  gold.' 

'  Rich  dresses  for  thy  loveliness  ; '  — 

'  My  brothers  wish  no  splendid  dress.' 

'  Sweet  Pana,  horses  famed  for  speed ; '  — 

'  My  brotliers,  Rade,  want  no  steed.' 

'  Sweet  maid,  I'll  give  myself  to  thee  ! ' 

•  Sweet  youth,  thine  own  the  maid  shall  be.'  " 

21* 


246  SLAVONIAN    LITERATURE. 

Tlie  Bohemian  language  has  perhaps  been  more 
acted  upon,  than  any  other  of  Slavonian  origin,  by 
foreign  dialects.  It  accommodates  itself  with  great 
readiness  to  almost  every  form  of  verse,  and  has  been 
very  successfully  used  in  most  of  the  ancient  classical 
measures.  In  the  present  generation,  it  has  been  the 
object  of  a  very  patriotic  attention  on  the  part  of  the 
people ;  but  the  enthusiasm  for  its  cultivation  has  been 
systematically  discouraged  by  the  Austrian  govern- 
ment. The  national  literature  of  Bohemia  is  older 
than  that  of  any  other  Slavonian  country,  and  its 
monuments  extend  as  far  back  as  the  tenth  century. 
The  most  valuable  relics  were,  however,  only  recently 
discovered.  They  consist  chiefly  of  fragments  of  epic 
and  lyric  poems,  which  were  composed  apparently  in 
the  thirteenth  century.  The  loss  of  the  remainder  is 
much  to  be  lamented,  as  the  portions  that  have  been 
preserved  surpass  all  other  similar  productions  of  the 
middle  ages  in  their  poetical  beauties,  deep  and  tender 
feeling,  and  purity  of  language.  The  period  from 
1520  to  1620  is  called,  by  the  Bohemians,  the  golden 
age  of  their  literature  ;  and  in  fact,  science,  letters, 
and  the  arts,  were  cultivated  in  Bohemia  during  this 
period  with  much  success.  Public  instruction  was  in 
a  more  flourishing  state  in  that  country  than  in  most 
other  parts  of  Europe.  The  city  of  Prague,  alone, 
contained  three  universities  and  sixteen  educational 
institutes  ;  beside  which,  seminaries  of  instruction  were 
established  all  over  the  country.  The  Bohemian  lan- 
guage then  attained  its  highest  perfection,  and  the 
number  of  books  written  and  published  on  every  sub- 
ject was  very  great. 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE 


The  ancient  Scandinavian  language,  once  common 
to  the  whole  north-western  part  of  Europe  beyona  the 
Baltic,  is  now  confined  to  Iceland,  where  it  has  under- 
gone little  change  since  the  ninth  century.  This 
dialect  of  the  Gothic  is  the  parent  stock  of  Swe- 
dish, Danish,  and  Norwegian.  Since  it  has  no  longer 
been  spoken  on  the  continent,  it  has  been  called  exclu- 
sively Icelandic.  The  study  of  these  languages  throws 
considerable  light  on  the  history  of  the  English  tongue. 
There  is  a  striking  similarity  of  construction  between 
them  and  the  English ;  the  same  grammatical  sim- 
plicity prevails  in  them ;  and  neither  their  verbs  nor 
their  nouns  are  subject  to  those  numerous  changes  of 
termination,  which  render  the  study  of  German  and 
Russian  so  perplexing  to  a  foreigner.  The  Swedish 
and  Danish  arc  the  softest  in  sound,  and  simplest  in 
construction,  of  all  the  Gothic  dialects. 

Of  the  original  poetry  of  the  various  Teutonic  races,* 

*  Tho  Teutonic  or  Germanic  nations  include  the  mass  of 
the  Bottlers  of  Northern  Europe,  exclusive  of  the  Celts.  Thej 
arc  divided  into  three  branches  —  1.  The  Germans  proper; 
2.  The  Saxons,  from  whom  have  descended  the  Dutch, 
Frisians,  Flemings,  modern  Saxons,  Englisii,  Scotch,  and 
Anglo-Suons  of  the  United  States;    and,  3.  The  Scandi- 


248  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE. 

which  five  or  six  centuries  after  the  Christian  era  in- 
undated all  Europe,  wc  know  but  little.  Tacitus  spoke 
of  them,  at  an  earlier  period,  as  a  people  fond  of  poetry 
and  song,  who  yet  used  their  voices  as  instruments  to 
frighten  their  enemies ;  and  Julian  the  Apostate  com- 
pares their  songs  to  the  wild  cries  of  the  birds.  In  the 
third  century,  when  Odin  and  his  Goths  attract  our  notice 
in  the  north,  we  are  struck  with  the  appearance  of  the 
Skalds,  or  northern  singers,  emerging,  as  it  were,  from 
the  night  of  the  past  —  skilful,  elaborate,  initiated 
bards,  who  drew  their  wisdom  and  skill  from  some 
fountain  of  Asiatic  lore  unknown  to  us. 

The  existence  of  the  ancient  Scandinavians  —  the 
inhabitants  of  Iceland,  Norway,  Sweden,  and  Denmark 
—  was  warlike,  wild,  and  full  of  action.  They  were  a 
people  of  decidedly  maritime  habits ;  and  naval  enter- 
prise at  that  period  consisted  mostly  of  piratical  adven- 
tures undertaken  in  order  to  gain  a  livelihood,  or  for 
the  purpose  of  subjecting  their  neighbors  to  tributary 
vassalage.  Amid  these  active  and  stirring  scenes, 
they  had  intervals  of  rest ;  and  to  enjoy,  during  these 
calm  periods,  the  luxuries  and  easy  pleasures  of  life, 
was  denied  them  by  an  unfriendly  climate  ;  but  during 
the  long  and  gloomy  nights  of  winter,  they  had  leisure 
to  give  themselves  up  to  meditation  on  the  exploits  of 
their  ancestors.  From  this  origin  sprang  their  epic 
compositions,  which  may  be  enumerated  among  the 
most  profound  and  powerful  that  have  ever  been  pro- 
duced by  the  human  mind.     They  are  all  marked  by 

navians,  which  include  the  Danes,  Swedes,  Norwegians,  and 
Icelanders.  The  descendants  of  the  Teutonic  nations  amount 
to  ninety  millions,  at  the  present  daj'. 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE.  249 

the  characteristics  of  primitive  rudeness,  harsh  and 
stern,  with  often  an  entire  disregard  of  the  outward 
form  of  poetry  ;  bat  they  all  have  the  vigor  of  youth- 
ful life,  unrestrained  and  untamed,  that  despises  every 
external  rule  and  ornament.  Without  introduction, 
without  explanation,  the  narrator  plunges  at  once  into 
the  very  centre  of  the  action.  Depending  on  the 
power  of  his  subject,  the  artless  poet  often  announces 
tlie  issue  in  the  first  lines.  The  words  fall  sharp  like 
the  strokes  of  the  sword ;  heavy,  like  the  hammer  on 
the  anvil ;  and  each  word  is  a  deed.  Nothing  is  said 
but  what  is  most  necessary,  and  even  here,  much  is 
left  to  the  imagination.  We  see  ourselves  transported 
from  one  realm  to  another ;  from  the  strand  of  the  sea 
to  the  summit  of  the  mountain  ;  from  the  subterranean 
cave  of  the  witch  to  the  bower  of  the  noble  maiden, 
without  even  a  previous  intimation:  Action  stands 
close  to  action. 

The  mental  features  of  the  heroes,  also,  in  their 
wonderful  powers,  are  drawn  only  by  a  few  bold 
strokes  of  the  pencil.  They  are  the  immediate  de- 
scendants of  the  gods  of  the  north  ;  themselves  still  a 
giant  race,  to  which  the  diminutive  measure  of  our  own 
feelings  must  not  be  applied.  Enormous  in  mind,  in 
purpose,  and  in  action,  we  see  them  performing  deeds 
which  savor  of  madness.  Their  anger  is  rage  ;  their 
love  a  devouring  flame ;  blood  only  can  quench  their 
thirst  for  vengeance  ;  and  where  even  their  own  giant 
strength  docs  not  suffice,  the  dark  powers  of  a  subter- 
ranean world  are  invoked,  and  are  often  present  with 
them  in  union  or  in  conflict. 

The  Skald  was  a  poet,  artificial  or  simple,  according 


250  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE. 

as  his  genius  inspired  him.  The  Sliulds  united  in 
themselves  the  functions  of  the  historiographer  and  the 
poet :  they  were  the  interpreters  of  the  gods,  and  the 
ambassadors  of  kings.  Their  poetry  was  a  regular  art 
and  science,  and  they  possessed  no  less  than  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-six  different  forms  of  verse.  Theii* 
poetical  language  was  highly  figurative;  rivers  are 
called  "  the  sweat  of  the  earth,"  and  "  the  blood  of  the 
valleys ;  "  arrows  are  the  "  daughters  of  misfortune," 
the  "  hailstones  of  helmets ; "  the  battle-axe  is  the 
"  hand  of  the  slaughterer;"  the  eye  is  the  "torch  of 
the  countenance,"  or  the  "  diamond  of  the  head ; " 
grass  and  herbage  are  the  "  hair  and  fleece  of  the 
earth ; "  hair  is  the  "  forest  of  the  head,"  and  when 
white,  the  "  snow  of  the  brain  ; "  a  ship  is  the  "  horsp 
of  the  waves ; "  rocks  are  the  "  bones  of  the 
earth,"  &c. 

One  of  the  most  ancient  monuments  of  the  poetry 
and  mythology  of  the  Scandinavians  is  the  Edda,  a 
work  originally  compiled,  it  is  thought,  in  the  eleventh 
century,  and  which,  to  a  reader  ignorant  of  its  par- 
ticular design,  appears  a  most  whimsical  and  unintelli- 
gible performance.  The  Edda,  in  fact,  according  to 
a  competent  judge,  was  intended  as  a  course  of  poetical 
lectures,  for  the  use  of  the  young  Icelanders  who 
designed  to  devote  themselves  to  the  profession  of  a 
Skald  or  poet.  The  first  and  most  ancient  Edda  was 
compiled  by  Sosmond  Sigfusson,  an  Icelander,  who  was 
born  about  the  year  1057.  He  was  one  of  the  first  of 
his  nation  who  undertook  to  commit  to  writing  the  an- 
cient religious  poetry  of  the  Scandinavians,  which  then 
existed  only  in  tradition.     He  seems  to  have  confined 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE.  25l 

himself  to  the  selecting  into  one  body  such  of  the 
ancient  poems  as  appeared  most  proper  to  furnish  a 
sufficient  number  of  poetical  figures  and  phrases. 

The  first  v/ork  being  apparently  too  voluminous  and 
obscure,  and  not  sufficiently  adapted  to  common  use, 
about  120  years  afterward,  Snorro  Sturleson,  another 
learned  Icelander,  and  a  poet,  undertook  an  abridgment 
of  it,  by  selecting  whatever  was  most  imporlant  in  the 
old  mythology.  He  gave  this  abridgment  in  the  form 
of  a  dialogue,  in  imitation  of  the  ancient  northern  poets, 
who  have  generally  chosen  this  most  natural  kind  of 
composition.  The  name  Edda  seems  to  be  derived 
from  an  old  Gothic  word  signifying  "  grandmother,"  a 
rather  unpoetical  appellation ;  but,  in  the  figurative 
language  of  the  old  poets,  this  term  was,  doubtless, 
thought  proper  to  express  an  ancient  doctrine. 

Other  relics  of  the  ancient  Scandinavian  poetry  are 
preserved  in  the  Icelandic  Sagas,  which,  even  at  the 
present  day,  afford  delight  to  the  Icelanders  during 
their  long  winter  evenings.  The  Sagas  are  often 
learned  by  heart  by  itinerating  historians,  who  gain  a 
livelihood  during  winter  by  staying  at  different  farms 
and  houses,  reciting  these  compositions  till  their  stock 
of  lore  is  exhausted.  This  custom  appears  to  have 
existed  among  the  Scandinavians  from  time  imme- 
morial. The  usual  evening  reading  of  the  Icelanders, 
in  winter,  consists  of  some  old  Saga,  which  is  read,  in 
presence  of  the  whole  family,  by  the  father  or  some 
intelligent  member,  who  explains  obscure  passages,  in 
the  course  of  his  reading,  for  the  benefit  of  the  children 
and  servants. 

The  following  ode  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  pieces 


252  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE. 

of  Scandinavian  poetry  extant.     The  translation  is  by 
Gray. 

The  Descent  of  Odin. 

"  Uprose  the  king  of  men  with  speed, 
And  saddled  straight  his  coal-black  steed. 
Down  the  yawning  steep  he  rode 
That  leads  to  Hela's  drear  abode. 
Him  the  dog  of  darkness  spied  : 
His  shaggy  throat  he  opened  wide, 
While  from  his  jaws,  with  carnage  filled, 
Foam  and  human  gore  distilled. 
Hark  !  he  bays  with  hideous  din, 
Eyes  that  glow,  and  fangs  that  grin ; 
And  long  pursues,  with  fruitless  yell, 
The  father  of  the  powerful  spell. 
Onward  still  his  way  he  takes  ; 
The  groaning  earth  beneath  him  shakes, 
Till  full  before  his  fearless  eyes 
The  portals  nine  of  hell  arise. 

Right  against  the  eastern  gate. 
By  the  moss-grown  pile  he  sate. 
Where  long,  of  yore,  to  sleep  was  laid 
The  dust  of  the  prophetic  maid. 
Facing  to  the  northern  clime. 
Thrice  he  traced  the  Runic  rhyme  : 
Thrice  pronounced,  in  accents  dread. 
The  thrilling  verse  that  wakes  the  dead 
Till  from  out  the  hollow  ground 
Slowly  breathed  a  sullen  sound. 

PROPHETESS. 

What  call  unknown,  what  charms,  presume 
To  break  the  quiet  of  the  tomb .' 
Who  thus  afflicts  my  troubled  sprite. 
And  drairs  me  from  the  realms  of  nigrht' 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE.  25' 

Long  on  these  mouldering  bones  have  beat 
The  winter's  snow,  the  summer's  heat, 
The  drenching  dew  and  driving  rain  ! 
Let  me,  let  me,  sleep  again. 
Who  is  he,  witli  voice  unblest, 
That  calls  me  from  the  bed  of  rest  ? 


A  traveller  to  thee  unknown 

Is  he  that  calls  —  a  warrior's  son. 

Thou  the  deeds  of  light  shalt  know : 

Tell  me  what  is  done  below  — 

For  whom  yon  glittering  board  is  spread, 

Dressed  for  whom  yon  golden  bed  .' 

PROPHETESS. 

Mantling  in  the  goblet  see 
The  pure  beverage  of  the  bee  : 
O'er  it  hangs  the  sWcld  of  gold  : 
'Tis  the  drink  of  Balder  bold. 
Baldor's  head  to  death  is  given ; 
Pain  can  reach  the  sons  of  heaven. 
Unwilling  1  my  lips  unclose  ; 
Leave  me,  leave  me,  to  repose. 


Once  again  my  call  obey  ! 
Prophetess,  arise,  and  say 
What  dangers  Odin's  child  await ; 
Who  the  author  of  his  fate  ? 

PROPHETESS. 

In  Hoder's  hand  the  hero's  doom : 
His  brother  sends  him  to  the  tomb. 
Now  my  weary  lips  I  close ; 
Leave  me,  leave  me,  to  repose. 

XVII. — 22 


254  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE. 


Prophetess,  my  spell  obey  ! 

Once  again  arise,  and  say 

Who  the  avenger  of  his  guilt; 

By  whom  shall  Hoder's  blood  be  spilt  ? 

PROPHETESS. 

In  the  caverns  of  the  west. 
By  Odin's  fierce  embrace  compressed, 
A  wondrous  boy  shall  Rinda  bear, 
Who  ne'er  shall  comb  his  raven  hair, 
Nor  wash  his  visage  in  the  stream, 
Nor  see  the  sun's  departing  beam, 
Till  he  on  Hoder's  corse  shall  smile. 
Flaming  on  the  funeral  pile. 
Now  my  weary  lips  I  close ; 
Leave  me,  leave  rae,  to  repose. 


Yet  awhile  my  call  obey  ! 
Prophetess,  awake,  and  say 
What  virgins  these,  in  speechless  woe. 
That  bend  to  earth  their  solemn  brow, 
That  their  flaxen  tresses  tear. 
And  snowy  veils  that  float  in  air. 
Tell  me  whence  their  sorrows  rose,  — 
Then  1  leave  thee  to  repose. 

PROPHETESS. 

Ha  !  no  traveller  art  thou  ! 
King  of  men,  I  know  thee  now ! 
Mightiest  of  a  mighty  line 


No  boding  maid,  of  skill  divine, 
Art  thou,  nor  prophetess  of  good, 
But  mother  of  the  giant  brood  ! 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE.  255 

PROPHETESS. 

Hie  thee  hence,  and  boast  at  home 

That  never  sliall  inquirer  come 

To  break  my  iron  sleep  again, 

Till  Lok  has  burst  his  tenfold  chain  ; 

Never  till  substantial  Night 

Has  re-assumed  her  ancient  right; 

Till,  wrapped  in  flames,  in  ruin  hurled. 

Sinks  the  fabric  of  the  world." 

The  following  ode  of  Harold  the  Valiant  is  found  in 
an  old  Icelandic  chronicle,  entitled  Knytlinga  Saga. 
Harold  the  Valiant  was  a  Norwegian  prince,  who  lived 
about  the  middle  of  the  eleventh  century,  and  was  one 
of  the  most  illustrious  adventurers  of  his  time.  He 
had  traversed  all  the  seas  of  the  North,  and  carried  his 
piratical  incursions  as  far  as  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
coast  of  Africa.  He  was  at  length  taken  prisoner,  and 
detained  some  time  at  Constantinople.  He  complains, 
in  this  ode,  that  the  glory  which  he  had  acquired  by  so 
many  exploits  had  not  been  able  to  make  any  impres- 
sion on  Elissif,  the  daughter  of  Jarislas,  Czar  of 
Russia. 

«'  My  ships  have  made  tlie  tour  of  Sicily.  Then  wc  were 
all  magnificent  and  splendid.  My  brave  vessel,  full  of 
mariners,  rapidly  rowed  to  the  utmost  of  my  wishes.  Wholly 
engrossed  by  war,  I  thought  my  course  would  never  slacken. 
—  And  yet  a  Russian  maiden  scorns  me  ! 

In  my  youth  1  fought  with  the  people  of  Drontheim. 
Their  troops  outnumbered  ours.  It  was  a  terrible  conflict. 
I  left  their  young  king  dead  in  the  field.  —  And  yet  a  Russian 
maiden  scorns  me  ! 

One  day,  we  were  but  sixteen  in  a  vessel.  A  storm  arose 
and  swelled  the  sea :  it  filled  the  loaded  ship ;  but  we  dili- 


256  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATUEE. 

gently  cleared  it  out.  Thence  1  formed  hopes  of  the  hap- 
piest success.  —  And  yet  a  Russian  maiden  scorns  me  ! 

I  know  liow  to  perform  eight  exercises.  I  fight  valiantly. 
1  sit  firm  on  horseback.  I  am  inured  to  swimming.  1  know 
how  to  dart  along  on  skates.  I  throw  the  lance,  and  am 
skilful  at  the  oar.  —  And  yet  a  Russian  maiden  scorns  me  ! 

Can  she  deny,  that  young  and  lovely  maiden,  that,  on  a 
day  when  posted  near  a  city  in  the  southern  land,  1  joined 
battle  ;  that  then  I  valiantly  handled  my  arms,  and  left  be- 
hind me  lasting  monuments  of  my  exploits  .''  —  And  yet  a 
Russian  maiden  scorns  me  ! 

1  was  born  in  the  high  country  of  Norway,  where  the  men 
handle  their  bows  so  well.  But  1  preferred  guiding  my 
ships,  the  dread  of  peasants,  among  the  rocks  of  the  ocean. 
And,  far  from  the  habitations  of  men,  I  have  run  through  all 
the  seas  with  ray  vessels.  —  And  yet  a  Russian  maiden 
scorns  me  !  " 

We  must  now  view  the  Scandinavian  literature  in 
another  aspect ;  in  which  it  presents  us  a  rich  treasure 
of  pojmlar  poetry,  by  which  we  mean  those  produc- 
tions bearing  the  form  of  songs,  ballads,  dramas,  or 
any  other,  which  proceed  from  the  common  people,  and 
operate  upon  them  ;  the  blossoms  of  popular  life,  born 
and  nurtured  under  the  care  of  the  people,  cherished 
by  their  joys,  and  watered  by  their  tears ;  and,  as  such, 
eminently  characteristic  of  the  great  mass  of  the  na- 
tion, and  its  condition.  The  treasures  of  old  Swedish 
and  Danish  popular  poetry  are  known  to  most  readers 
only  by  reputation.  The  grand,  nay,  gigantic  char- 
acter of  these  ballads  must  necessarily  have  ren- 
dered the  merely  heroic  portion  of  them  strange 
to  the  tame  generation  of  the  present  age.  Vast  num- 
bers of  them  had  unquestionably  perished,  even  in  the 
memories  of  the  people,  when,  in  1591,  the  first  at- 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATTTRE.  257 

tempt  was  made  to  collect  them  in  a  volume.  The 
most  modem  of  them,  according  to  the  best  judges  of 
the  language,  are  not  later  than  the  fifteenth  century, 
the  oldest  not  older  than  the  thirteenth,  at  least  in  their 
present  shape.  The  Swedish  popular  poetry  is,  in 
body  and  spirit,  so  very  nearly  related  to  the  Danish, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  discover  any  distinguishing  features. 
The  peasantry  of  Sweden  arc  great  singers,  and  are, 
if  possible,  more  attached  to  old  ballads,  and  the  airs  to 
which  they  are  sung,  than  even  the  Lowland  Scotch,  to 
whom,  in  their  language,  habits,  character,  and  appear- 
ance, they  bear  a  striking  resemblance. 

The  following  ancient  Danish  ballad  is  given  in  the 
translation  of  M.  G.  Lewis,  and  will  afford  some  idea 
of  that  wild  imagination  which  plays  through  much  of 
the  old  poetry  of  the  north. 

The  Water-Ring. 

"  With  gentle  murmur  flowed  the  tide, 
While  by  its  fragrant,  flowery  side 
The  lovely  maid,  with  carols  gay, 
To  Mary's  church  pursued  her  way. 

The  Water-Fiend's  malignant  eye 
Along  the  banks  beheld  her  hie ; 
Straight  to  his  mother-witch  he  sped, 
And  thus  in  suppliant  accents  sa.id  :  — 

«  O  mother  !  mother  !  now  advise 
How  I  may  yonder  maid  surprise  ; 
O  mother  !  mother  !  now  explain, 
How  I  may  yonder  maid  obtain.' 
Q        22* 


258  SCANDINAVIAN   LITERATUEE. 

The  witch  she  gave  him  armor  white ; 
She  formed  him  like  a  gallant  knight ; 
Of  water  clear  next  made  her  hand 
A  steed,  whose  housings  were  of  sand. 

The  Water-King  then  swift  he  wentj 
To  Mary's  church  his  steps  he  bent; 
He  bound  his  courser  to  the  door, 
And  paced  the  churchyard  three  times  four 

His  courser  to  the  door  bound  he. 
And  paced  the  churchyard  four  times  three 
Then  hastened  up  the  aisle,  where  all 
The  people  flocked,  both  great  and  small. 

The  priest  said,  as  the  knight  drew  near, 
'  And  wherefore  comes  the  white  chief  here  •' 
The  lovely  maid  she  smiled  aside, 
'  O  !  would  I  were  the  white  chief's  bride  !  ' 

He  stepped  o'er  benches  one  and  two  , 
'  O  lovely  maid,  I  die  for  you  !  ' 
He  stepped  o'er  benches  two  and  three  ; 
'  O  lovely  maiden,  go  with  me  !  ' 

Then  sweetly  smiled  the  lovely  maid. 
And  while  she  gave  her  hand,  she  said, 
'  Betide  me  joy,  betide  me  woe. 
O'er  hill,  o'er  dale,  with  thee  I  go.' 

The  priest  their  hands  together  joins ; 
They  dance  while  clear  the  moonbeam  shines , 
And  little  thinks  the  maiden  bright 
Her  partner  is  the  Water-Sprite. 

O,  had  some  spirit  deigned  to  sing, 
'  Your  bridegroom  is  the  Water-Kin?  ! ' 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE.  259 

The  maid  had  fear  and  hate  confessed, 

And  cursed  the  hand  which  then  she  pressed. 

Uut  nothing  giving  cause  to  think 
How  near  she  strayed  to  danger's  brink, 
Still  on  she  went,  and  hand  in  hand 
The  lovers  reached  the  yellow  sand. 

'  Ascend  this  steed  with  me,  my  dear  ! 
We  needs  must  cross  the  streamlet  here ; 
Ride  boldly  in  ;  it  is  not  deep  ; 
The  winds  are  hushed,  the  billows  sleep.' 

Thus  spoke  the  Water-King.     The  maid 
Her  traitor-bridegroom's  wish  obeyed ; 
And  soon  she  saw  her  courser  lave 
Delighted  in  his  parent  wave. 

•  Stop,  stop,  my  love  !     The  waters  blue 
E'en  now  my  shrinking  foot  bedew.' 
'  O,  lay  aside  your  fears,  sweet  heart ! 
We  now  have  reached  the  deepest  part.' 

'  Stop,  stop,  my  love  !  for  now  I  see 
The  waters  rise  above  my  knee.' 
'  O,  lay  aside  your  fears,  sweet  heart ! 
We  now  have  reached  the  deepest  part.' 

'  Stop,  stop  !  for  God's  sake,  stop  !  for  O  ! 
The  waters  o'er  my  bosom  flow  ! ' 
Scarce  was  the  word  pronounced,  when  knight 
And  courser  vanished  from  her  sight. 

She  shrieks,  but  shrieks  in  vain ;  for  high 
The  wild  winds,  rising,  dull  the  cry  : 
The  fiend  e.xults  ;  the  billows  dash, 
And  o'er  their  hapless  victim  plash. 


260  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE. 

Three  times,  whilst  struggling  with  the  stieam. 
The  lovely  maid  was  heard  to  scream ; 
But  when  the  tempest's  rage  was  o'er, 
The  lovely  maid  was  seen  no  more. 

Warned  by  this  tale,  ye  damsels  fair. 
To  whom  you  give  your  love  beware  ! 
Believe  not  every  handsome  knight, 
And  dance  not  with  the  Water-Sprite  !' 

Among  the  fairy  legends,  or  tales  of  the  Scandina- 
vian elves,  we  have  selected  the  following.  The  be- 
lief in  the  existence  of  this  class  of  spirits  is  still  cur- 
rent among  the  peasantry  of  Sweden,  Denmark,  and 
Norway. 

ElTer's  Hoh. 

"  The  knight  laid  his  head  upon  Elver's  Hoh, 

Soft  slumber  his  senses  beguiling  : 
Fatigue  pressed  its  seal  on  his  eyelids,  when,  lo ! 

Two  maidens  drew  near  to  him  smiling. 
The  one  she  kissed  softly  Sir  Algamore's  eyes, 

The  other  she  whispered  him  sweetly, 
'  Arise,  thou  gallant  young  warrior,  arise, 

For  the  dance  it  goes  gayly  and  featly. 

Arise,  thou  gallant  young  warrior,  arise, 

And  dance  with  us  now  and  forever ; 
My  damsels  with  music  thine  ear  shall  surprise, 

And  sweeter  a  mortal  heard  never.' 
Then  straight  of  young  maidens  appeared  a  fair  throng, 

Who  their  voices  in  harmony  raising, 
The  winds  they  grew  still  as  the  sounds  flew  along. 

By  silence  their  melody  praising. 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE.  261 

The  winds  they  were  still  as  the  sounds  flew  along ; 

The  wolf  howled  no  more  from  the  mountain  ; 
The  rivers  were  mute  upon  hearing  the  song, 

And  calmed  the  loud  rush  of  the  fountain ; 
The  fisli,  as  they  swam  in  the  water  so  clear, 

To  the  soft  sounds,  delighted,  attended; 
And  nightingales,  charmed  the  sweet  accents  to  hear, 

Their  notes  with  the  melody  blended. 

"  Now  hear  me,  thou  gallant  young  warrior,  now  hear  ; 

If  thou  wilt  partake  of  our  pleasure. 
We'll  teach  thee  to  draw  the  pale  moon  from  her  sphere, 

We'll  show  thee  the  sorcerer's  treasure. 
We'll  teach  thee  the  Runic  rhyme ;  teach  thee  to  hold 

The  wild  boar  in  magical  fetters  ; 
To  charm  the  red  dragon  that  broods  over  gold, 

And  tame  him  by  mystical  letters  !  ' 

Now  hither,  now  thither,  then  danced  the  gay  band, 

By  witchcraft  the  hero  surprising. 
Who  sat  ever  silent,  his  sword  in  his  hand. 

Their  sports  and  their  pleasures  despising. 
'Now  hear  me,  thou  gallant  young  warrior,  now  hear  — 

If  still  thou  disdain'st  what  we  proffer. 
With  dagger  and  knife  from  thy  breast  will  we  tear 

Thy  heart,  which  refuses  our  offer  !  ' 

O,  glad  was  the  Knight  when  he  heard  the  cock  crow ! 

His  enemies  trembled,  and  left  him ; 
Else  must  he  have  staid  upon  Elver's  Iloh, 

And  the  witches  of  life  had  bereft  him. 
Beware  then,  ye  warriors,  returning  by  night 

From  court,  dressed  in  gold  and  in  silver  ; 
Beware  how  you  slumber  on  Elver's  rough  height  — 

Beware  of  the  witches  of  Elver  !  " 

The  modern  literature  of  Denmark  exhibits  many  dis- 
tinguished names.     Ilolbcrg  ha.s  been  compared  both 


262  SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE. 

to  the  author  of  Hudibras  and  to  Hogarth  ;  and  though 
but  an  imitator  of  cither,  he  rivals  both  the  poet  and 
the  painter  in  satiric  humor.  His  comedies  have  great 
merit ;  and,  though  marked  with  many  offences  against 
good  taste,  they  exhibit  great  dramatic  power,  and 
genuine  humor.  He  gave  to  Danish  literature  a  sudden 
and  powerful  impulse,  and  produced  an  extraordinary 
change  in  the  intellectual  taste  of  his  countrymen, 
whom  he  taught  to  read  and  to  think.  Holberg  was 
the  founder  of  the  Danish  comedy ;  and  Ewald,  at  a 
later  period,  was  the  creator  of  the  national  tragedy. 
He  impressed  upon  the  poetry  of  Denmark  a  character 
till  then  unknown,  inspiring  it  with  his  own  fervid 
genius.  As  a  lyric  poet,  he  stands  still  higher  than  as 
a  dramatist ;  and  some  critics  have  pronounced  him  the 
most  perfect  that  the  world  has  ever  yet  seen.  Bag- 
gessen  has  distinguished  himself  as  an  elegant  prose 
writer.  To  these  names  we  have  room  only  to  add 
those  of  Ingemann  and  CEhlenschlager,  who  are  yet  liv- 
ing. The  latter,  in  his  dramas  and  other  compositions, 
has  reopened  the  stores  of  ancient  Scandinavian  fable 
and  mythology,  and  revived  the  olden  spirit  of  his 
fatherland.  The  former  has  attained  celebrity  not  only 
as  a  poet,  but  also  in  the  field  of  historical  romance, 
and  is  generally  complimented  with  the  title  of  the 
Walter  Scott  of  Denmark. 

The  modern  literature  of  Sweden  developed  itself 
more  slowly  than  that  of  Denmark,  but  its  course  was 
nearly  the  same ;  for,  springing  from  a  common  stock, 
the  two  nations  were  similar  in  genius  and  intellectual 
disposition.  Dalin,  who  flourished  in  the  early  part  of  the 
last  century,  is  styled  the  Swedish  Addison.     Madame 


SCANDINAVIAN    LITERATURE  263 

Nordenflycht,  who  was  esteemed  a  prodigy  of  learning 
in  her  sex,  wrote  elegies  and  other  poems,  which  dis- 
play real  feeling^nd  talent,  although  marked  by  false 
■taste  and  affectation.  Bellman  is  styled  the  Swedish 
Anacreon,  and  his  songs  have  a  strong  vein  of  nation- 
ality and  racy  humor.  Madame  Lenngren,  in  her  poems, 
has  adorned  familiar  subjects  with  the  simple  graces 
of  nature  and  truth.  Franzcn  is  a  living  poet  of  great 
reputation ;  but  the  highest  rank  is  assigned  to  Elias 
Tegner,  whose  Frithiof 's  Saga  has  been  translated  into 
various  European  languages. 

There  is  one  department  of  literature  in  which 
Sweden  now  possesses  some  original  productions  of 
merit — that  of  prose  fiction  and  the  novel.  Nearly  all 
Scott's  romances  have  been  translated  into  Swedish, 
and  they  have  had  much  influence  in  creating  a  taste 
for  this  species  of  reading.  The  modern  novel  has 
been  treated  with  great  success  by  Frederika  Bremer, 
whose  works  are  too  well  known  to  the  American 
reader  to  require  any  further  description. 


GERMAN   LITERATURE, 


The  origin  of  the  German  nation  is  uncertain.  The 
Romans  first  became  acquainted  with  them,  under  the 
name  of  Cimbri,  B.  C.  113,  when  they  defeated  the 
consul  Papirius  Carbo,  near  the  confines  'of  the  Ro- 
man dominions.  After  Caesar  had  subjugated  Gaul,  he 
found  various  tribes,  called  Germans,  occupying  the 
country  east  of  the  Rhine.  From  this  time,  they 
figure  in  history  under  various  names  ;  but  that  of 
Teutones,  or  Germans,  is  the  general  designation,  and 
may  be  considered  as  embracing  the  pi'ogenitors  of  the 
various  nations  now  included  in  the  Germanic  empire. 

There  is  a  great  multiplicity  of  German  dialects, 
which  may,  however,  be  classed  under  two  heads  —  the 
Mgli  German  of  the  south,  and  the  loto  German  of  the 
north.  It  is  a  dialect  of  the  former  which  is  the  lan- 
guage of  literature  at  the  present  day;  this  dates 
its  origin  from  the  time  of  Luther.  The  spoken  dia- 
lects of  Germany  are  very  numerous,  and  difier  more 
or  less  from  the  language  of  books. 

The  most  ancient  monument  of  German  literature 
extant,  is  the  translation  of  the  Bible  into  the  Gothic* 

*  The  G(>ths  were  of  the  northern  or  Scandinavian  branch 
of  the  great  Teutonic  family. 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  265 

language  by  Bishop  Ulfilas.  It  was  made  in  the 
second  part  of  the  fourth  century,  for  the  use  of  the 
Gothic  tribe  of  the  Theringians,  who,  having  settled  on 
the  banks  of  the  Danube,  in  the  ancient  Roman  prov- 
ince of  Moesia,  were  generally  called  IMoDso-Goths. 
Ulfilas,  on  that  occasion,  introduced  a  new  alphabet  by 
modifying  the  old  Runic*  characters,  which  were  in 
general  use  amongst  the  Teutonic  nations.  The 
library  of  Upsal,  in  Sweden,  possesses  a  remarkable 
fragment  of  this  translation,  well  known  under  the 
name  of  the  Codex  ArgcnLeus,  being  written  in  silver 
letters  on  a  purple-colored  parchment.  It  contains  the 
four  Gospels,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been  written  in 
the  fifth,  or,  at  least,  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  cen- 
tury, among  the  Goths  of  Italy.  Some  fragments  of 
St.  Paul's  Epistles  to  the  Romans  were  discovered  in 
the  library  of  Wolfenbiittel ;  and  several  parts  of  the 
books  of  Esdras  and  Nehemiah,  as  well  as  several 
Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  preserved  in  the  same  manner, 
were  discovered  in  the  library  of  Milan,  by  Angelo 
Mai.  Several  editions  of  those  fragments,  accom- 
panied by  interesting  commentaries,  have  been  lately 
published  in  Germany. 

The  reign  of  Charlemagne  may  be  considered  as 
the  commencement  of  the  German  literature,  although 
there  arc  some  fragments  of  translations  from  eccle- 
siastical  books  which  were   probably   made    prior   to 

*  Runic,  literally  "  a  mystery,"  is  tlio  title  given  to  the  al- 
phabet of  the  Teutonic  nations.  It  consisted  of  sixteen  letters, 
and  resembled  the  Greek  and  Roman  characters.  It  existed 
before  the  Christian  era,  and  was  kept  a  secret  by  the  priests; 
and  hence  the  designation  of  Runic. 
XVII.— 23 


266  GERMAN   LITERATXTRE. 

that  epoch.  Charlemagne,  who  was  very  anxious  to 
promote  the  cultivation  of  his  native  language,  intro- 
duced German  names  of  months.  He  ordered  the 
scattered  monuments  of  the  Teutonic  language,  par- 
ticularly laws,  customs,  and  songs,  to  be  collected.  He 
also  required  the  ministers  of  religion  to  preach  in 
German. 

After  the  reign  of  Charlemagne,  the  Christian  re- 
ligion being  established  throughout  all  Germany,  many 
fragments  of  the  Bible,  and  some  ecclesiastical  writings, 
were  paraphrased  from  the  Latin  into  the  vulgar  tongue. 
The  separation  of  the  Germanic  empire  from  the 
French,  which  took  place  in  the  middle  of  the  ninth 
century,  acted  beneficially  on  the  national  language 
and  literature.  The  earliest  known  German  poem  of 
that  time  is  a  song  written  in  commemoration  of  the 
victory  which  Louis  III.  of  France  gained  over  the 
Normans,  in  881. 

The  reign  of  the  emperors  of  the  Suabian  family  of 
Hohenstauffen  is  the  golden  age  of  the  romantic  or 
chivalrous  poetry  of  Germany.  This  poetry,  being 
written  in  the  Suabian  dialect,  which  came  into  fashion 
through  the  influence  of  the  reigning  family,  is  gen- 
erally called  the  Suabian.  Germany  at  that  time  had 
made  great  progress  in  civilization,  particularly  by  its 
frequent  intercourse  with  Italy,  which  was  owing  to  the 
expeditions  of  the  emperors  to  that  country.  This  cir- 
cumstance led  to  an  acquaintance  with  the  trouba- 
dours of  Provence ;  and  the  crusades,  also,  which 
brought  the  Germans  into  contact  with  more  civilized 
nations,  such  as  the  Greeks  and  the  Saracens,  power- 
fully contributed  to  advance  the  intellectual  develop- 


GERJIAN    LITERATURE.  267 

ment  of  the  nation,  and  to  exalt  their  chivalrous  spirit 
The  poets  of  that  period  arc  known  under  the  name 
of  minnesingers,  from  the  old  German  word  minne, 
\vhich  signifies  loce.  They  may  be  compared,  in  many 
respects,  with  the  troubadours  of  Provence,  and  were 
generally  knights  and  nobles,  whose  life  was  divided 
between  the  occupations  of  love,  war,  and  devotion, 
which  inspired  their  poetical  effusions  with  tender, 
noble,  and  pious  feelings.  They  lived  chiefly  at  the 
courts  of  German  princes,  who  were  fond  of  poetry, 
and  many  of  whom  were  poets  themselves. 

The  decline  of  chivalry  put  an  end  to  the  minne- 
singers, and  the  art  of  poetry  descended  from  the 
nobles  to  the  burghers  of  cities.  Welfare  and  civiliza- 
tion, being  secured  by  their  fortified  towns,  gave  them 
a  decided  advantage  over  the  nobles,  who  abandoned 
themselves  to  the  greatest  excesses,  and  lived  in  a  most 
lawless  state,  being  constantly  engaged  in  mutual  feuds 
and  depredations  during  the  troubles  which  agitated  the 
German  empire  in  the  latter  part  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  after  the  death  of  Frederic  II. 

The  cultivation  of  poetry  by  the  burghers  became  a 
kind  of  trade  ;  and  the  poets,  who  formed  a  corporation, 
like  other  tradesmen  and  artisans,  were  called  meister- 
singers,  or  master-singers.  They  had  their  rules,  like 
other  corporations,  and  the  members  were  obliged  to 
submit  to  an  apprenticeship.  Their  poetry  was  of  a 
different  kind  from  that  of  the  minnesingers.  The 
exploits  of  chivalry,  and  the  enthusiastic  love,  or  rather 
worship,  of  ladies,  were  no  longer  the  exclusive  theme 
of  composition,  although  they  produced  some  metri- 
cal chronicles.      The  general  subjects  of  the  poems 


268  GERMAN    LITERATUEE. 

of  this  period  are  of  a  moral  and  satirical  character,  but 
there  are  also  some  of  the  didactic  kind.  The  most 
celebrated  production  of  tiiis  school  is  the  well-known 
poem  Reinecke  Der  Fuchs,  translated  into  English, 
and  published  for  the  first  time  under  the  following 
title,  —  The  History  of  Reynart  the  Foxe,  by  me, 
William  Caxlon,  translated  from  the  Dutch  into  Eng- 
lish, &c. 

There  are  many  other  productions  of  a  similar  kind, 
all  characterized  by  an  overflowing  comic  and  satirical 
humor.  The  best  specimen  of  this  national  vein  is 
the  celebrated  production  called  Eulenspicgel,  trans- 
lated into  English  under  the  title  of  Owleglass,  Lon- 
don, 1709. 

To  this  epoch  belongs  the  commencement  of  the 
original  dramatic  literature  of  Germany,  which  is  due 
to  the  meistersingers'  school  of  Niirnberg.  Before 
that  period,  the  Germans  were  only  acquainted  with 
the  so  called  mysteries,  or  dramatized  biblical  stories, 
written  and  performed,  for  the  most  part  in  Latin, 
about  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Harz  Volz, 
a  barber  by  profession,  Rosenblut,  and  some  others, 
introduced  a  kind  of  farce  called  "  Carnival  Plays." 
They  were  all  excelled  by  Hans  Sachs,  a  shoemaker 
by  profession,  who  lived  from  1494  to  1576  :  his  works 
are  full  of  wit  and  invention,  and,  ne.xt  to  the  Spaniard 
Lope  de  Vega,  he  is  the  most  fertile  of  dramatic 
writers. 

Many  historical  and  allegorical  poems  were  written 
during  the  15th  century ;  and  several  ballads,  and  other 
metrical  productions,  were  rendered  into  prose,  which 
may  be  considered  as  the  commencement  of  the  novel 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  269 

in  Germany.  We  have  not  space  to  name  the  authors 
of  this  period. 

The  reformation  of  Lutlier  gave  an  extraordinary' 
impulse  to  the  national  literature  of  Germany  ;  and 
Luther  himself  contributed,  more  than  any  other  man, 
to  the  advancement  of  the  German  language,  which 
may  be  considered  as  having  been  fixed  by  his  transla- 
tion of  the  Scriptures.  The  religious  quarrels  which 
agitated  Germany  during  the  sixteenth  centuiy  gave  to 
literature  a  theological  direction,  and  tlie  first  scholars 
of  that  time  were  more  or  less  engaged  in  religious 
controversy.  Among  the  poets  we  may  mention  Lu- 
ther himself,  who  composed  many  religious  songs ; 
Rudolph,  Weckhcrlin,  and,  above  uU,  Oj)itz,  the  founder 
of  the  so  called  Silesian  school. 

This  latter  writer,  who  died  in  1639,  greatly  im- 
proved the  style  of  German  poetry,  by  imitating  the 
classics.  The  German  language  is  indebted  to  him 
for  more  correctness  and  harmony,  but  particularly 
for  having  purified  it  from  the  barbarisms  with  which 
it  was  loaded.  Among  the  principal  followers  of  Opitz 
we  may  mention  Flemming,  Dach,  Scheming,  Gerhard, 
&c.  Many  literary  societies,  whose  object  was  to  pro- 
mote the  national  literature,  were  formed  in  the  seven- 
teenth century ;  the  most  remarkable  were  the  Order 
of  Flowers,  and  the  Fructifying  Society. 

The  German  poetry  of  the  seventeenth  century  is, 
however,  very  deficient  in  real  merit ;  and,  except  some 
religious  songs,  there  is  scarcely  any  poetical  produc- 
tion which  can  be  read  at  present.  The  general  char- 
acteristics of  the  poetry  of  this  period   arc  ridiculous 

23* 


270  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

bombast  and  aflectcd  mannerism,  introduced  by  some 
imitators  of  the  Italian  poetry  of  Marino's  school. 

Among  the  prose  writers,  we  must  mention,  in  the 
first  place,  the  mystical  authors,  or  the  so  called  iheos- 
ophists,  who  united  the  study  of  divinity  and  meta- 
physics with  that  of  natural  philosophy.  The  most 
celebrated  are  Paracelsus,  well  known  as  a  physician 
and  chemist ;  and  Weigel,  a  Saxon  clergyman,  who 
may  be  considered  as  the  pupil  of  Paracelsus,  having 
imbibed  his  doctrines  from  the  works  of  his  master, 
and  adapted  them  to  divinity  and  ethics.  To  the  same 
school  belongs  Jacob  Boehme.  In  natural  science  we 
may  mention  Kepler  and  Leibnitz,  two  of  the  greatest 
men  that  have  ever  lived. 

When  we  come  into  the  eighteenth  century,  the 
names  of  authors  familiar  to  English  ears  begin  to 
crowd  the  page  of  German  history.  Biirger,  the  author 
of  Eleanor  and  other  ballads,  and  one  of  the  favorite 
writers  of  his  class,  died  in  1794,  at  the  age  of  forty- 
six  ;  Solomon  Gessner,  a  bookseller  of  Zurich,  who 
wrote  the  Death  of  Abel,  died,  at  the  age  of  fifty -eight, 
in  1788  ;  Holty,  celebrated  for  his  lyric  compositions, 
died  in  1776  ;  and  Klopstock,  the  renowned  author  of 
the  "  Messiah,"  expired  at  Baden,  in  1803.  No  Ger- 
man writer  has  ever  had  so  general  a  popularity  in 
England  and  America  as  Kotzebue,  and  no  one  is 
regarded  at  the  present  day  with  more  general  con- 
tempt. He  was  born  at  Weimar,  and  early  devoted 
himself  to  writing  plays.  Going  to  Russia  as  secre- 
tary to  General  Bauer,  he  there  produced  his  tragedy 
of  Demetrius,  and  married  a  Russian  lady.     He  con- 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  271 

linued  to  write  for  the  stage,  and  his  plays  of  the  Virgin 
of  the  Sun,  the  Stranger,  &c.,  found  their  way  into 
most  European  theatres.  He  was  afterwards  em- 
ployed by  the  emperor  Paul  ;  but,  giving  some  oflence 
to  his  patron,  he  was  sent  to  Siberia.  He  was,  how- 
ever, soon  permitted  to  return ;  and  in  1818,  being  at 
Manheim,  he  was  assassinated  by  a  fanatical  student  of 
Jena,  named  Sand. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  life  of  the  once  "  world- 
renowned,"  but  now  almost  forgotten,  Augustus 
Von  Kotzebue.  Tlie  moral  of  his  history  is  this:  his 
writings,  though  full  of  talent,  were  founded  upon  a  false 
moral  basis ;  and  therefore  his  success  and  popularity 
were  ephemeral.  In  the  strong  language  of  Menzel, 
"  he  turned  Parnassus  into  a  brothel,  and  undertook 
the  office  of  procurer  himself.  No  one  knew  so  well 
how  to  tickle  the  weaknesses  and  evil  inclinations  of 
the  educated,  and  the  vanity  of  the  uneducated,  public, 
as  he.  In  refined  gentility  alone,  Kotzebue  could  not 
succeed.  His  nature  was  too  vulgar  to  find  merely 
the  delicate  language  under  which  Vice  knows  how  to 
conceal  itself  with  the  more  refined  natures."  Such 
is  the  lesson  taught  in  a  thousand  examples — that  im- 
morality is  incompatible  with  immortality,  in  literature. 
Though  the  palate  of  the  public  may  be  tickled  for  a 
time  with  corruption,  sooner  or  later  the  stomach  will 
revolt,  and  cast  forth  the  offensive  aliment. 

We  come  now  to  a  still  greater  name  in  German 
literature  —  that  of  Goethe,  whom  his  countrymen,  in 
admiration  of  his  diversified  genius,  denominate  the 
aJl-sided.  His  works,  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  are 
no  better  than  those  of  Kotzebue  ;  yet  they  have  had  a 


272  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

wonderful  celebrity  in  Germany ;  and  in  England,  as 
well  as  here,  there  is  a  small  school  of  idolatrous  ad- 
mirers of  them. 

As  yet,  no  work  of  Goethe's  has  appeared  in  Eng- 
lish which  rises  above  mediocrity ;  and  it  seems  that, 
even  in  Germany,  the  general  spirit  of  his  productions, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  man,  is  regarded  with  reprobation 
by  critics  of  the  highest  standing.  "  His  influence 
upon  literature,"  says  Menzel,  "  not  only  was,  but  is, 
and  will  long  continue  to  be,  immeasurable.  This  in- 
fluence is  various;  excellent  in  many  respects,  but 
harmful  in  a  still  greater  variety  of  ways.  Inasmuch  as 
he  flattered  many  of  the  weaknesses  and  errors  of  his 
age,  he  has  become  the  highest  authority  for  all  those 
who  are  hardening  in  these  weaknesses,  and  who  carry 
these  errors  to  still  more  extravagant  lengths.  When 
I  behold  among  his  admirers  the  noblest  spirits  and 
the  most  respectable  characters  of  the  nation,  whose 
example  I  might  follow,  I  see  no  less  among  them  all 
those  parties,  also,  whose  tendency  I  regard  as  mischiev- 
ous, hostile,  deadly  to  the  most  sacred  interests  of  the 
nation,  of  religion,  of  morality,  nay,  of  art  itself.  I  am 
willing,  therefore,  to  let  whatever  there  is  about 
Goethe's  mind  and  powers,  that  merits  admiration, 
have  its  influence  with  those  noble  men ;  but  I  shall 
still  war  against  these  ignoble  spirits,  and  against  every 
thing  in  Goethe  which  they  use  as  a  pretext  for  their 
own  baseness. 

"  If  I  were  not  guided  by  a  profound  feeling  and  an 
immovable  conviction,  verily,  I  should  not  take  it  upon 
myself  to  oppose   so  great  a  number  of  respectable 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  273 

admirers  of  Goethe,  between  whom  and  the  miserable 
inference-makers  1  draw  a  wide  distinction. 

"  The  entire  phenomenon  of  Goethe,  the  sum  and 
substance  of  all  his  qualities  and  manifestations,  is  a 
reflex,  a  closely-compressed  and  variously-colored 
image,  of  his  age.  But  this  was  an  age  of  national 
degeneracy  ;  of  political  imbecility  and  disgrace  ;  of  a 
malicious  unbelief ,  of  a  coquettish  and  sensual  cant; 
of  a  deep  demoralization ;  of  a  passion  for  pleasure, 
smoothed  over  by  an  appearance  of  taste  under  the 
mask  of  refined  manners ;  of  contempt  for  every  public 
interest,  and  an  anxious  care  for  self.  All  these  sad 
phenomena  of  the  times,  which  occasioned  the  down- 
fall of  the  German  empire,  and  brought  about  the 
triumph  of  France  over  our  despised  and  neglected 
country,  Goethe  has  not  resisted  like  a  hero,  nor  be- 
wailed like  a  prophet.  He  has  merely  given  back 
their  images,  and  poetically  embellished  them ;  nay, 
not  merely  applauded  them  indirectly,  but  in  express 
terms. 

"  We  recognize  in  Goethe  the  exact  opposite  of  Les- 
sing.  As  Lessing  emancipated  the  German  mind  from 
foreign  influence,  Goetlie  subjected  it  to  this  influence, 
by  toying  with  every  people  under  the  sun  ;  and  as 
Lessing  opposed  the  sentimental  style,  with  all  the 
force  and  gracefulness  of  his  manly  spirit,  so  Goethe 
adhered  to  that  efleminafe  enervation  of  the  age,  and 
led  the  afiections  to  its  snares  by  the  sweetness  of  his 
strains.  To  all  the  luxurious,  soft,  effeminate  vices 
that  have  made  their  way  into  German  literature  by 
the  sentimental  spirit,  and  to  all  the  false,  perverted, 
and  foppish  mannerisms  that  have  been  introduced 
B 


274  GEEMAN   LITERATURE. 

by  aping  foreigners,  Goethe  lent  the  most  powerful 
aid,  and  elevated  imbecility  and  unnaturalness  into  a 
law.  The  only  good  which  he  had  with  this  bad  tend- 
ency, and  that  by  which  he  attained  so  great  power, 
was  his  form, — his  talent  of  language,  of  representa- 
tion, of  dress. 

"  When  we  pierce  through  the  many-colored  cloud 
of  the  Goethean  form,  we  perceive  egotism  to  be  the 
inmost  essence  of  his  poetry,  as  of  his  whole  life ;  not, 
however,  the  egotism  of  the  hero  and  the  heaven- 
storming  Titan,  but  only  that  •»  of  the  Sybarite  and 
actor  —  the  egotism  of  the  passion  for  pleasure,  and  the 
vanity  of  art.  Goethe  referred  every  thing  to  himself; 
made  himself  the  centre  of  the  world ;  excluded  from 
his  neighborhood,  and  from  contact  with  himself,  every 
thing  that  did  not  minister  to  his  desires,  and  really 
exercised  a  magic  sway  over  weak  souls  by  his  talent ; 
but  he  did  not  make  use  of  his  power  and  his  high 
rank  to  elevate,  improve,  and  emancipate  men,  or  to 
announce  and  support  any  great  idea  whatever,  or  to 
fight  in  the  battles  which  his  contemporaries  were 
waging  for  right,  freedom,  honor,  and  country.  By 
no  means.  He  only  carried  the  world  away  with  him, 
like  the  stage  princess  —  to  enjoy  it,  to  play  his  part 
before  it,  to  get  admiration  and  pay."  * 

Schiller  furnishes  a  striking  contrast,  in  the  elevation 
of  his  personal  character  and  the  lofty  enthusiasm 
which  inspires  his  writings,  to  the  selfishness  and  sen- 
suality of  Goethe,  with  whom  he  was  contemporary. 

*  For  a  view  of  the  life  and  writings  of  Goethe,  see  Lives 
of  Famous  Men  of  Modern  Times. 


GERMAN    LITERATUKE.  275 

He  was  born  at  JMarbach,  on  the  Neckar,  in  1759,  and 
is  said  almost  in  infancy  to  have  given  intimations  of 
the  poetic  vein  which  afterwards  shone  so  brightly. 
^Vlien  quite  a  child,  he  was  one  day  found  perched 
on  the  branch  of  a  tree,  during  a  thunder-storm,  and 
apparently  absorbed  in  watching  the  sublime  phe- 
nomena of  the  heavens.  When  reprimanded  by  his 
parents  for  such  indiscretion,  he  excused  himself  by 
saying  that  the  lightning  was  so  beautiful,  he  wished 
to  find  out  where  it  came  from.  This  is  no  unapt 
illustration  of  his  character,  which  was  displayed  in 
following  the  sublime  and  beautiful  to  their  source  in 
the  skies,  unawed  and  unabashed  by  the  splendors  that 
flashed  upon  his  soul. 

After  an  irregular  training,  he  began  the  study  of 
the  law,  but  at  the  same  time  secretly  gave  his  soul  to 
the  Muses.  At  fourteen,  he  finished  the  plan  of  an 
epic  on  Moses,  and  soon  after,  having  formed  a  taste 
for  dramatic  poetry,  he  wrote  the  celebrated  play  of 
the  Robbers.  This  was  produced  at  Manhcim  in 
1792 ;  and  although  it  created  a  prodigious  sensation 
throughout  Germany,  and  even  gained  a  place  upon 
the  English  stage,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  char- 
acters, language,  and  sentiment,  are  all  forced,  unnat- 
uml,  and  bombastic.  The  moral  efibct,  which  seemed 
to  be  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  mankind  in  behalf  of 
a  brigand,  was  also  too  much  like  that  of  Jack  Shep- 
herd and  Paul  ClitTord,  of  our  own  day. 

From  this  period,  Schiller  devoted  himself  to  litera- 
ture, and  gained  the  station  of  the  most  popular  drama- 
tist and  poet  of  Germany.  Among  his  plays,  the  most 
celebrated  are  William  Tell,  Fiesco,  Wallenstein,  and 


27G  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

the  Maid  of  Orleans.  He  also  wrote  several  works  of 
a  critical  and  historical  character,  which  greatly  in- 
creased his  reputation.  His  smaller  poems  are  nu- 
merous. After  a  lingering  illness,  he  died,  in  1805. 
Before  his  departure,  he  took  a  touching  and  tranquil 
farewell  of  his  friends.  Some  one  asking  him,  a  shor* 
time  before  he  expired,  how  he  felt,  he  replied 
"  Calmer  and  calmer  !  "  —  simple  words,  expressive  ol 
the  mild  heroism  of  the  man.  After  a  deep  sleep,  he 
awoke  for  a  moment,  and  saying,  "  Many  things  are 
now  growing  clear  and  plain  to  me,"  he  expired. 

The  distinguishing  characteristic  of  Schiller's  works, 
and  that  which  has  made  him  the  idol  of  the  German 
nation,  is  a  fine  rushing  enthusiasm,  an  exalted  love 
of  mankind,  and  an  earnest  faith  in  ideal  excellence. 
His  works,  however,  are  too  exclusively  reflections  of 
what  dwelt  in  his  own  bosom ;  and  though  these  are 
noble  and  glorious,  his  genius  seems  to  have  been 
confined.  His  tendency  was  what  is  called,  by  his 
countrymen,  subjective  —  a  habit  of  using  the  subjects 
suggested  by  his  own  mind,  instead  of  the  opposite  pro- 
cess, called  ohjective,  in  which  the  mind  becomes  a 
mirror  of  the  world  around,  and  reflects  its  objects  and 
scenes,  beautified  by  the  prismatic  hues  of  the  soul. 
Goethe  is  regarded  as  having  possessed  the  latter 
power,  and  this  difference  is  the  line  of  discrimination 
between  the  two  poets. 

In  dramatic  composition,  Schiller  produced  beautiful 
poetic  passages,  and  hence  his  plays  are  admired ;  but 
as  he  could  not  go  out  of  himself,  he  could  not  depict 
characters  acting  and  feeling  as  they  would  speak  and 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  277 

feel.  He  also  exhausted  every  topic,  and  burdened  his 
dramas  with  tedious  dialogues.  His  best  performances 
are  his  lyrics ;  here  his  own  feelings  come  into  play, 
and  nothing  in  the  language  of  his  country  surpasses 
them  in  beauty  of  thought  and  emotion.  In  Germany, 
his  verses  are  in  every  mouth  ;  his  memory  is  revered  ; 
and  his  works,  in  spite  of  their  defects,  contain  that 
pure  spirit  of  poetry  which  can  never  die.  We  copy 
two  specimens,  which  will  give  the  reader  an  idea  of 
this  class  of  Schiller's  productions  —  making  due  allow- 
ance for  the  loss  of  the  original  spirit,  always  suffered 
in  a  translation  :  — 

Hope. 

•'  A  still,  small  voice  in  every  soul 
Of  happier  days  keeps  chantingr ; 
And  eagerly  on  to  the  golden  goal 
We  see  men  running  and  panting. 
The  world  grows  old,  and  grows  young  again  ; 
Still  this  hope  of  improvement  haunts  man's  brain. 

Hope  welcomes  to  life  the  smiling  child  ; 

Her  light  shapes  round  the  schoolboy  swim  ; 
Hope  fires  the  young  man  with  visions  wild  ; 
And  she  goes  not  under  the  earth  with  him, 
When  his  race  is  run,  and  the  grave  doth  ope  ;  — 
On  the  brink  of  the  grave  he  planteth  —  hope. 

It  is  not  an  empty,  flattering  dream. 

Offspring  of  idle  thought ; 
Through  every  heart  it  sendeth  a  gleam 
Of  that  better  world  we've  sought. 
And  what  the  voice  within  us  spe.Tks 
Deceives  not  the  soul  that  trustingly  seeks.' 
XVII. — 24 


278  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

Dignity  of  Woman. 

"  Honored  be  woman  I     To  her  it  is  given 

To  twine  with  our  life  the  bright  roses  of  heaven  ; 

'Tis  hers  to  be  weaving  affection's  sweet  bond  ; 
Beneath  the  chaste  veil  she  loves  to  retire, 
And  nourish,  in  silence,  the  holy  fire 

That  burns  in  a  bosom  faithful  and  fond. 

Far  beyond  truth's  simple  dwelling 

Man's  wild  spirit  loves  to  sweep ; 
And  his  heart  is  ever  swelling, 

Tossed  on  passion's  stormy  deep. 
To  the  distant  good  aspiring. 

There  is  still  no  peace  for  him ; 
Through  the  very  stars,  untiring. 

He  pursues  his  dazzling  dream. 

But  woman's  mild  glance,  like  a  charm,  overtakes  him, 
And  from  his  visions  of  wandering  wakes  him, 

Warning  him  back  to  the  present  to  flee. 
In  the  mother's  still  cot,  her  enjoyment 
Finds  she  in  modest  and  quiet  employment ; 

Faithful  daughter  of  nature  is  she. 

Fierce  is  man's  unending  strife ;  — 

He,  beneath  ambition's  goad. 
Madly  rushes  on  through  life, 

Without  rest  or  fixed  abode. 
Now  creating  —  now  undoing  — 

No  repose  his  wishes  know  ; 
Like  the  Hydra's  heads,  renewing. 

Still  they  wither,  still  they  grow. 

But  woman,  contented,  enjoys  every  hour  ; 

She  plucks  from  each  moment  that  passes  the  flower 

And  fondly  guards  it  with  tender  care ;  — 
Her  bounden  duties  are  all  her  pleasures  ; 
Richer  than  man  in  memory's  treasures. 

Roves  she  through  poesy  s  endless  sphere. 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  279 

Foad  of  self,  apart  and  dreaded, 

Man's  cold  bosom  ne'er  doth  prove 
How,  when  heart  to  heart  is  wedded, 

Glows  tiie  heavenly  joy  of  love. 
He  knows  not  the  exchange  of  feeling, 

Never  melts  away  in  tears ; 
But  his  heart,  in  a  world  so  chilling, 

Hardens  witli  his  growing  years. 

As,  by  the  wandering  zephyrs  when  shaken. 
The  tremulous  chords  of  the  wind-harp  waken, 

Woman's  soft  soul  is  feelingly  true. 
Tenderly  wrung,  when  to  sorrow  she  listens. 
Heaves  her  fond  bosom,  and  pearly-bright  glistens 

The  tear  in  her  eye,  like  heavenly  dew. 

Under  man's  despotic  sway, 

'  Might  makes  right '  is  still  the  word  ; 
Persia's  monarch  must  obey, 

Silenced  by  the  Scythian  sword. 
Self-conflicting  passion  wages 

In  his  breast  a  hateful  war  ; 
While  hoarse  discord  rules  and  rages, 

Modesty  is  seen  no  more. 

But  woman,  with  soft,  persuasive  power, 
When,  in  her  turn,  she  rules  the  hour. 

Quenches  the  fires  tliat  burn  to  destroy,  — 
Teaches  the  powers,  forever  contending. 
In  peace  and  harmony  now  to  be  blending  — 

Old  foes  to  be  mingling  in  love  and  joy." 

Among  the  lesser  poets  of  this  period  we  may  notice 
Matthison,  who  died,  at  the  age  of  70,  in  1831,  and 
whose  name,  by  the  favor  of  those  who  are  smitten 
with  the  Germano-mania,  is  not  wholly  unknown  on  tkis 
side  of  the  Atlantic.     A  recent  writer  in  one  of  our 


280  GERMAN   LITERATURE. 

gazettes  thus  notices  this  author :  "  Matthison  was  one 
of  Germany's  sweetest  poets  ;  of  his  gems,  the  following 
was  the  favorite  of  the  great  Schiller.  He  says  of  the 
poem,  '  We  cannot  readily  discover  whether  or  not  it 
be  barely  the  happy  versification  which  gives  to  this 
song  its  musical  efiect,  but  it  does  not  originate  and 
perfect  it.  It  is  the  felicitous  combination  of  images, 
and  the  lovely  variety  in  their  succession,  it  is  the 
modulation  and  the  fair  connection  of  the  whole,  which 
creates  its  excellence,  and  whereby  it  becomes  an  ex- 
pression of  a  determinate  sensation,  as  well  as  a  picture 
full  of  animation  and  soul.'  The  following  version 
is  an  attempt  to  translate  these  beauties  into  an  English 
body :  — 

Eventide. 

"  Golden  light 

Decks  the  height. 
Mildly  beam  the  rays  enchanted 
O'er  the  crumbling  castle  haunted. 

In  godlike  beams 

Ocean  gleams. 
Homeward  glide,  with  swan-like  motion. 
Fishing-boats  from  darkening  ocean. 

Silvery  sand 

Clothes  the  strand. 
Redder  here,  and  yonder  whiter, 
Imaged  clouds  swim  in  the  water 

Rustling  winga, 

Golden  things, 
To  the  reed-fens  on  the  foreland 
Swarm  in  clusters  from  the  moorland. 


GERMAN   LITERATUEE.  281 

Picture  gay 

Peeps  for  day ; 
Decked  with  garden,  leaf,  and  fountain. 
Moss-clad  cloister  'neath  the  mountain. 

Crimson  beams 

Die  on  streams ; 
Now  grow  pale  the  light  rays,  trembling 
O'er  the  forest-castle  crumbling. 

Full  moonlight 

Decks  the  height. 
Lisping  sprites  bethrong  the  valley, 
Dames  and  knights  in  ghostly  dally  !  " 

Now,  we  are  bound  to  believe  that  the  translator  has 
succeeded  in  his  attempt  to  render  the  beauties  of  the 
original  into  English :  we  may  admit,  also,  that  it  is 
one  of  the  choicest  gems  of  the  author,  and  that  Schil- 
ler pronounced  upon  it  the  eulogium  above  quoted  ;  but 
we  must  stili  be  permitted  to  say  that  it  seems  not  to  be 
above  the  level  of  the  ordinary  newspaper  poetry  of 
the  day. 

It  may  be  well,  in  order  to  show  the  danger  of  trust- 
ing this  habit  of  eulogizing  every  thing  German,  to 
quote  the  author  before  cited,  in  respect  to  the  personal 
and  poetic  character  "  of  one  of  Germany's  sweetest 
poets."  "  Holty,"  says  he, "  expressed  genuine  sadness 
with  the  simplest  and  tendercst  touches  ;  but  soon  after 
Matthison  imbodied  mock  melancholy  in  a  style  of  the 
most  bombastic  aflectation.  This  celebrated  Matthison, 
a  servile  soul,  seeking  his  fortune,  and  finding  it,  by 
fawning  upon  all  literary  and  political  authorities;  sur- 
passing, in  the  number  of  presentation  snuff-boxes  that 
24* 


282  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

he  had  begged,  all  the  other  favored  disciples  of  Apollo, 
gained  this  favor  by  taking  upon  himself  the  part  of 
howling  and  weeping  his  crocodile  tears  before  the 
loftiest  dignitaries,  the  high  nobility,  and  the  respect- 
able public. 

"  This  mushroom  of  fortune  was  designed  neither  by 
nature,  nor  by  destiny,  for  sighing  and  the  shedding  of 
tears;  but  he  made  a  lucrative  trade  out  of  them,  be- 
cause sentimentality  had  become  the  fashion  of  genteel 
society  ;  and  so,  after  a  good  meal,  he  seated  himself 
comfortably  among  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  and 
turned  out  melancholy  verses.  At  a  hunting  party,  an 
all-powerful  young  nobleman,  in  order  to  get  rid  of 
him,  recommended  him  to  stop  under  a  tree  until  the 
dignitaries  should  return,  and  make  an  elegy ;  and  he 
made  an  elegy. 

"  In  his  melancholy,  therefore,  every  thing  is  studied 
for  effect ;  there  is  the  most  disgusting  hypocrisy  that 
I  have  ever  met  with.  Even  the  form  for  which  he 
is  celebrated,  the  elaborately  polished  verses,  the  pretty 
flourishes,  the  frequent  bringing  in  of  little  arabesque 
ornaments,  and  the  like,  are  proofs  of  the  untruthful- 
ness of  his  sentiments  and  the  hoUowness  of  his  heart. 
Although  he  made  a  business  of  melancholy,  and  lived 
at  the  time  when  the  German  was  fairly  entitled  to 
excite  a  profounder  sadness,  it  never  occurred  to  Mr. 
Von  Matthison  to  devote  one  lament  to  his  country ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  he  offered  incense  to  Napo- 
leonism,  and  made  the  notorious  Festival  of  Diana  the 
theme  of  song.  His  melancholy  was  never  drawn  at 
all  from  the  sufferings  of  private  life ;  it  was  the  gen- 
uine reflection  oC  the  weariness  of  luxury,  the  morbid 


GERMAN    LITERATUEE.  283 

affectation  of  inflated  indolence.  Among  the  ruins  of 
an  old  castle,  to  bewail  the  extinction  of  its  possessors, 
or,  with  excellent  Rhenish  before  him,  to  consecrate  a 
tear  to  their  future  death  —  long  delayed,  it  was  to  be 
hoped  !  —  and  while  so  doing,  to  dandle  himself  with 
the  fond  conceit  that  he  was  going  to  sit  down  in 
Elysium,  wearing  a  laurel  crown,  with  Plato  and  the 
other  Greek  notabilities,  under  Anacrcon's  myrtle 
grove  ;  —  these  were  the  worthy  subjects  of  Matthison's 
melancholy  muse." 

It  would  lead  us  entirely  beyond  the  scope  of  this 
volume  to  notice  in  detail  the  host  of  German  authors 
who  now  crowd  the  lists  of  fame.  We  are  told  that 
there  are  more  than  300  living  dramatists  in  Germany. 
The  whole  number  of  the  living  authors  would,  probably, 
amount  to  several  thousands.  In  such  a  state  of  things, 
there  are,  doubtless,  many  who  are  too  insignificant  to 
be  known  beyond  their  immediate  vicinity ;  but  there 
are  still  many  whose  works  have  obtained  for  them  a 
reputation  even  beyond  the  wide  limits  of  their  coun- 
try. The  names  of  Chamisso,  the  author  of  "  Peter 
Schlemihl,"  who  bartered  away  his  shadow  ;  of  Heine,  a 
poet  and  political  writer ;  of  Riickert,  celebrated  for 
his  lyrics ;  of  Tiedge,  many  of  whose  songs  are  set  to 
music  ;  of  Tieck,  who  is  known,  both  as  a  poet,  and 
translator  of  Don  Quixote  and  several  of  the  jilays  of 
Shakspere  ;  —  these,  and  many  others,  are  familiar  to 
English  ears,  and  their  works  justify  the  high  reputa- 
tion they  enjoy  at  home.  There  arc  still  other  names, 
connected  with  the  literature  of  Germany,  in  the  vari- 
ous Morks  of  history,  philosophy,  criticism, and  science, 
even  more  renowned  than  those  wc  have  cited ;  but 


284  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

our  limits  will  not  permit  their  enumeration.  With 
a  few  general  remarks,  we  must  close  this  brief  and 
hasty  sketch. 

The  literature  of  Germany  is  at  present  attracting 
great  attention  throughout  the  civilized  world,  and  is 
calculated  to  excite  curiosity  as  well  on  account  of  its 
quantity  as  its  quality.  "  The  Germans,"  says  Men- 
zel,  "  do  little,  but  they  write  so  much  the  more.  If  a 
denizen  of  the  coming  centuries  ever  turns  his  eye 
back  to  the  present  point  of  time  in  German  history, 
he  will  meet  with  more  books  than  men.  He  will  be 
able  to  stride  through  years  as  through  repositories. 
He  will  say,  we  have  slept,  and  dreamed  in  books. 
We  have  become  a  nation  of  scribes,  and  might  place 
a  goose  on  our  escutcheon,  instead  of  the  double- 
headed  eagle.  The  pen  governs  and  serves,  works 
and  pays,  fights  and  feeds,  prospers  and  puaishes. 
W^e  leave  to  Italians  their  heaven,  to  the  Spaniards 
their  saints,  to  the  French  their  deeds,  to  the  English 
their  bags  of  money,  and  sit  down  to  our  books.  The 
contemplative  German  people  love  to  think  and  poetize, 
and  they  have  always  time  enough  for  writing.  They 
have  even  invented  the  art  of  printing,  and  now  they 
toil  away  indefatigably  at  the  great  engine.  The 
learning  of  the  schools^  the  passion  for  what  is  foreign, 
fashion,  —  lastly,  the  profits  of  the  book  trade,  —  have 
done  the  rest,  and  so  an  immeasurable  mass  of  books  is 
built  up  around  us,  which  increases  every  day  ;  and  we 
are  astonished  at  this  amazing  apparition,  this  new 
wonder  of  the  world,  the  Cyclopedia  walls,  of  which 
the  mind  is  laying  the  foundation.  Upon  a  moderate 
computation,  there  are  printed,  every  year,  in  Ger- 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  285 

many,  ten  millions  of  volumes.  As  every  half-yearly 
fair-catalogue  gives  us  the  names  of  a  thousand  Ger- 
man writers,  we  must  admit  that,  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, there  are  living  in  Germany  towards  fifty  thou- 
sand men  who  have  each  written  one  book  or  more. 
If  their  number  goes  on  in  the  same  progression  as 
heretofore,  we  shall  have  it  in  our  power  to  make  a 
registry  of  ancient  and  modern  German  authors,  which 
will  contain  a  larger  number  of  names  than  a  registry 
of  all  living  readers. 

"  The  operation  of  this  literary  activity  stares  us  in 
the  face.  To  which  side  soever  we  turn,  we  behold 
books  and  readers.  Even  the  smallest  town  has  its 
reading-room,  and  the  poorest  town  its  manual  library. 
Whatever  we  may  have  in  one  hand,  we  are.  sure  to 
have  a  book  in  the  other.  Every  thing,  from  govern- 
ment down  to  children's  cradles,  has  become  a 
science,  and  must  needs  be  studied.  Literature  is 
turned  into  a  regular  apothecary's  shop  for  the  empire  ; 
and  although  the  empire  grows  the  more  ill  the  more 
medicine  it  takes,  yet  the  doses  are  not  diminished,  but 
increased.  Books  help  to  every  thing.  What  one  is 
ignorant  of,  is  to  be  found  in  a  book.  The  physician 
writes  his  receipt,  the  judge  his  sentence,  the  preacher 
his  sermon,  the  teacher,  as  well  as  the  scholar,  his  task, 
from  books.  We  govern,  cure,  trade  and  travel,  boil 
and  roast,  according  to  books.  Dear  youth  would  be 
lost,  indeed,  without  books.  A  child  and  a  book  arc 
things  which  always  occur  to  us  together. 

"  There  is  nothing  of  any  interest  whatever  which 
has  not  been  written  about,  in  Germany.  Is  any  thing 
done,  the  most  important  consequence  is,  that  some- 


286  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

body  writes  about  it;  nay,  many  things  appear  to  be 
done  for  no  other  reason  in  the  world  than  to  be 
written  about.  Most  things,  however,  are  only  written 
about  in  Germany,  and  not  done  at  all.  Our  activity 
is  eminently  in  writing.  This  were  no  misfortune, 
where  the  wise  man  who  writes  a  book  does  no  less, 
but  often  more,  than  the  general  who  gains  a  victory ; 
but  when  ten  thousand  fools  take  it  into  their  heads  to 
write  books,  the  case  is  as  bad  as  when  all  the  common 
soldiers  choose  to  be  generals. 

"  We  receive  into  ourselves  all  earlier  culture  only  to 
enshroud  it  again  in  paper.  We  pay  for  the  books 
which  we  read,  with  those  which  we  write.  There  are 
hundreds  of  thousands,  who  learn  only  for  the  purpose 
of  teaching  again  ;  whose  whole  existence  is  riveted  to 
books ;  who  go  from  the  school-bench  to  the  professor's 
chair  without  once  looking  abroad  into  the  green  world. 
They  apply  also  the  same  torture  to  others  that  they 
have  endured  themselves.  Priests  of  corruption,  dried 
up  among  mummies,  they  propagate  the  old  poison,  as 
the  vestal  virgins  kept  alive  the  sacred  fire." 

The  causes  of  such  an  extraordinary  productiveness 
in  literature  are  to  be  found  in  the  political  condition 
of  the  Germans,  acting  on  a  people  of  a  peculiarly 
thoughtful  and  meditative  turn.  In  regard  to  this 
latter  point,  the  author  just  quoted  says,  "  There  are 
words  which  are  themselves  deeds.  All  the  recollec- 
tions and  ideals  of  life  knit  themselves  to  that  second 
world,  of  knowledge  and  poetry,  which  is  born,  puri- 
fied, and  transfigured,  of  the  everlasting  action  of  the 
mind.  And  in  this  world,  we  Germans  are  preem- 
inently at  home.     Nature  gave  us  a  surpassing  thought- 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  287 

fulness,  a  predominating  inclination  to  descend  into 
the  depths  of  our  own  spirit,  and  to  unlock  its  im- 
measurable riches.  While  we  give  ourselves  up  to 
this  national  propensity,  we  manifest  the  true  greatness 
of  our  national  peculiarity,  and  fulfil  the  law  of  nature, 
—  that  destiny  to  which  we,  before  all  other  people,  are 
called.  Literature,  however,  the  copy  of  that  spiritual 
life,  will,  for  this  very  reason,  show  here  its  Ijright, 
sunny  side.  Here  it  works  positively,  creatively,  hap- 
pily. The  light  of  the  ideas  which  have  gone  out 
from  Germany  will  enlighten  the  world." 

Admitting,  as  we  do,  the  highly  thoughtful  char- 
acter of  the  Germans,  we  may  easily  see,  that,  as  the 
spirit  of  the  government  excludes  them  from  the  free 
discussion  of  political  subjects,  it  is  but  natural  that 
their  minds,  seeking  vent  in  the  discussion  of  all  ques- 
tions not  prohibited,  should  develop  new  sources  of 
knowledge,  and  explore  new  regions  of  thought.  Two 
things  more  are  also  to  be  considered  ;  first,  that  more 
than  forty  millions  of  people  read  the  German  lan- 
guage, thus  opening  an  immense  field  for  literature  ; 
and  second,  that  the  several  governments,  some  forty 
in  number,  employ  a  numerous  body  of  learned  and 
scientific  men  in  various  ways,  many  of  whom  devote 
themselves  to  particular  points  of  inquiry,  and  write 
books  upon  them,  thus  giving  rise  to  the  multitude  of 
treatises  on  special  subjects,  which  form  a  character- 
istic of  German  literature. 

Such  we  believe  to  be  the  true  explanation  of  the 
amazing  fecundity  of  the  German  press.  The  pecu- 
liarities of  their  literature  may  be  traced  to  the  sources 
already  noticed ;  the  German  mind,  meditative  in  its 


2S8  GERMAN    LITERATURE. 

character,  working  under  extraordinary  impulses,  yet 
constrained  to  develop  itself  in  words  severed  from 
actions.  Under  such  circumstances,  the  Germans 
have  excelled  in  patient  investigation,  in  elaborate 
research,  in  toilsome  classification ;  they  have  pro- 
duced the  most  profound  commentaries,  the  ablest 
encyclopedias,  the  most  elaborate  histories.  But  when 
they  ,diverge  from  the  defined  paths  of  reality,  and 
enter  the  regions  of  poetry  and  metaphysics,  they  seem 
to  tread  the  confines  of  the  land  of  dreams :  groping 
in  the  deep  caverns  of  the  soul,  they  appear  often  to 
lose  themselves  in  regions  where  the  strained  vision 
mistakes  shadows  for  substances. 

The  training  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind  is  essentially 
different  from  that  of  the  German.  Thought  and  ac- 
tion with  us  go  together.  The  checks  and  balances, 
imposed  upon  the  thinking  power,  by  action,  lead  us  to 
the  habit  of  testing  every  thing  in  a  practical  way. 
Common  sense  becomes  our  standard,  as  well  in  litera- 
ture as  in  every  thing  else  ;  and  ideas  which  are  inap- 
preciable by  this,  are  rejected  as  misguiding  visions. 
Distinctness,  certainty,  precision,  are  qualities  essential 
to  the  perfection  of  English  thinking.  For  this  rea- 
son it  is,  that  a  large  part  of  the  metaphysics  of 
Germany,  which  pervades  their  poetry  as  well  as 
their  philosophy,  —  and  which  is  founded  on  the  the- 
ory that  we  obtain  ideas  by  powers  transcending  the 
senses,  and  hence  called  transcendental,  —  is  rejected, 
as  learned  mysticism,  by  the  great  mass  of  English  and 
American  readers.  There  are  some  among  us,  indeed, 
who  profess  to  fathom  the  depths  of  German  mysti- 
cism ;  but  they  are  generally  those  persons  who  have 


GERMAN    LITERATURE.  289 

not  "  drank  deep  of  tlic  Pierian  spring ; "  those  to 
whose  twilight  fancy  the  ghosts  and  shades  of  ideas  are 
as  real  as  ideas  themselves.  If  we  add  to  this  class 
those  who  use  old  words  in  new  senses,  and  who 
thus  contrive  to  make  a  show  of  learning,  while  they 
bewilder  their  intellects,  we  shall  doubtless  embrace 
the  largest  portion  of  those  among  us  who  profess  to 
be  the  peculiar  admirers  of  German  literature. 

We  do  not  by  any  means  intend  to  speak  dispara- 
gingly of  the  literature  of  Germany.  In  many  things 
the  German  scholars  are  leading  the  world.  In  works 
which  require  diligence,  patience,  and  investigation, 
they  surpass  all  others  :  but  in  mental  philosophy  we 
prefer  Locke  to  Kant ;  and  in  poetry  we  place  Shak- 
spere  before  Goethe.  The  average  standard  of  Eng- 
lish mind,  as  displayed  in  the  highest  walks  of  litera- 
ture, is  as  much  above  that  of  Germany,  as  the  genius 
of  the  bard  of  Avon  is  superior  to  that  of  the  author  of 
Wilhelm  Meister. 


XVII. — Q5 


LITERATURE   OE   HOLLAND. 


The  remnants  of  a  remote  antiquity,  in  the  annals 
of  Holland,  are  few  and  scattered.  It  has  always 
been  a  country,  the  dispositions  and  habits  of  whose 
people  have  been  as  quiet  as  its  inland  waters,  yet 
easily  affected  by  external  circumstances  ;  too  weak 
to  be  the  arbiter  of  its  own  fate,  and  too  closely 
hemmed  in  by  mightier  nations,  not  to  feel  every 
shock  which  agitated  them.  The  ebb  and  flow  of  its 
political  vicissitudes  have  swept  away  most  of  its 
■national  traditions.  Of  all  the  Teutonic  branches,  the 
Netherlanders  have  preserved  the  smallest  portion  of 
the  old  popular  literature.  The  interest  of  inquiry 
into  the  early  compositions  of  the  Low  Countries  is 
almost  wholly  philological.  The  works  of  imagination 
that  have  come  down  to  us  in  this  language  have  little 
■poetry  ;  the  ethical  writers  have  little  philosophy  ;  and 
ihe  historical  records  have  little  authority. 

Down  to  a  certain  period,  the  language  of  Holland 
■and  Flanders  was  the  same.  The  close  connection 
wllh  France,  growing  out  of  similarity  of  religion  and 
geographical  contact,  has  gradually  undermined  thp 
language  of  Belgium ;  and  to  such  a  degree  has  the 
French  established  itself,  that,  throughout  a  great  por- 
tion of  the  southern  Netherlands,  it  is  deemed  a  degra- 


LITERATURE    OF    HOLLAND.  291 

dation  to  read  the  old  Dutch  authors ;  while  many 
Flemings  have  denied  even  the  existence  of  a  national 
tongue,  employing  French  for  all  the  purposes  of 
social  conversation  and  correspondence,  and  disdaining 
the  use  of  the  Flemish,  except  towards  servants.  Re- 
specting the  Dutch  language,  we  need  only  observe 
that  it  is  akin  to  the  German. 

The  more  celebrated  among  the  Dutch  authors 
have  written  in  Latin.  Their  Latin  prose  writers  ob- 
tained a  high  reputation,  and  excited  an  extensive 
influence  in  Europe.  But  their  poets  were  unknown, 
and  we  may  add,  little  worthy  of  notice.  Latin  was 
the  tongue  of  science ;  and  as  all  mankind  have  a  much 
deeper  interest  in  the  development  of  facts  than  in  the 
exercise  of  the  imaginative  powers,  minds  of  the  highest 
order  will  rather  aim  to  instruct  than  amuse  the  world. 
But  as  respects  poetry,  the  fancy  does  not  easily 
clothe  itself  in  the  garb  of  a  foreign  language,  how- 
ever profoundly  studied.  Song  is  the  natural  breath- 
ing of  the  mind,  and  can  hardly  wear  any  other  gar- 
ment than  that  of  the  habitual  thoughts. 

The  remnants  of  old  Dutch  poetry  are  more  ancient 
than  any  thing  which  exists  in  French,  though  not  of  so 
remote  a  date  as  some  of  our  fragments  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  antiquity.  The  Rymhybel  —  or  Rhyme-Bible  — 
of  Jakob  Van  Mac  riant,  who  was  born  in  1235,  is  one 
of  the  earliest  and  most  curious  things  in  the  Dutch 
language.  lie  wrote  also  the  Mirror  of  History,  Flow- 
ers of  Nature,  and  other  works.  His  diction  is  re- 
markably pure.  Various  writers  distinguished  them- 
selves during  the  two  following  centuries  ;  and  at  the 
outbreak  of  the  reformation,  Anna  Byns,  who  wrote 


292  LITERATURE    OF    HOLLAND. 

against  the  Lutheran  heresies,  was  lauded  as  the 
Sappho  of  her  day.  But  of  all  the  old  Dutch  poets, 
the  only  one  tliat  can  be  said  to  have  attained  general 
notoriety,  even  in  his  own  country,  is  Vondel.  He 
was  born  at  Cologne,  but  educated  in  Holland.  He 
has  been  called  a  Shakspere  of  a  lower  order,  over- 
flowing equally  with  beauties  and  defects.  He  lived 
to  the  age  of  ninety-one,  and  developed,  with  far 
greater  success  than  any  of  his  predecessors,  the 
varied  powers  of  the  Dutch  language  ;  and  his  author- 
ity, more  than  any  other,  has  recommended  the  Alex- 
andrian verse  to  general  adoption  in  Holland.  Vondel 
has  been  judged  of  rather  by  extracts,  which  are  in 
every  body's  mouth  in  Holland,  than  by  any  entire 
piece  of  composition,  or  by  the  whole  of  his  writings ; 
and  undoubtedly  he  would  sink  very  low,  if  the  test 
of  criticism  were  applied  to  the  mass  of  his  works. 
Contemporary  with  Vondel  was  Jacob  Cats,  also  a 
highly  popular  poet.  We  must  not  omit  Jan  Van 
Gorp,  who  wrote  a  book  to  prove  that  Adam  and  Eve 
spoke  no  language  in  Paradise  but  Dutch. 

In  the  sentimentality  of  the  old  versifiers,  there  is 
little  poetry,  but  there  is  sometimes  much  wisdom,  and 
they  frequently  bring  the  sanctions  and  requirements 
of  religion  to  bear  upon  the  every-day  pursuits  of  life 
in  emphatic  rhymes,  which  leave  a  deep  impression 
on  the  mind.  No  language  has  so  vast  a  collection 
of  moral  aphoi'isms  as  the  Dutch.  Books  of  emblems, 
once  so  popular  in  the  religious  world,  exist  among 
the  Dutch  in  countless  varieties  ;  and  volumes  like  that 
of  which  Izaak  Walton's  Complete  Angler  may  be 
called  a  piscatorial  specimen,  garnished  and  adorned 


LITERATURE    OF    HOLLAND.  293 

with   moralizations  and   amatory  verses,   occupy   the 
whole  field  of  literature. 

The  great  men  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
century,  who  throw  such  a  splendor  over  the  literature 
of  Holland,  are  seldom  connected  in  our  thoughts  with 
the  country  to  which  they  belong.  They  write  in 
Latin,  the  learned  language  of  Europe,  not  that  of 
their  native  land.  When  we  hear  of  Erasmus,  Grotius, 
Boerhaave,  Vossius,  the  Elzevirs,  Spinoza,  Barla;us, 
and  Arminius,  the  associations  of  the  place  of  their 
birth,  or  of  their  abode,  seem  scarcely  in  any  way 
linked  with  their  illustrious  names.  In  fact,  the  old 
and  absurd  practice  of  Latinizing,  or  Ilcllenizing,  their 
surnames,  seems  to  complete  the  business  of  taking 
away  all  their  nationality  from  these  authors.  The 
persecuted  Protestants,  whom  the  revocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Nantes  led  to  settle  in  Holland,  while  they 
brought  with  them  virtue,  knowledge,  and  industry, 
brought,  too,  their  aflcction  for  the  language  of  their 
country,  and  its  influence  was  much  increased  by  the 
eminent  abilities  which  distinguished  many  of  those 
illustrious  refugees.  Bayle  and  Saurin,  especially, 
excited  the  attention  of  the  European  world  ;  and  the 
very  prohibition  of  their  writings  by  the  vain-glorious 
Louis  XIV.  gave  them  additional  recommendation. 
This  happened  at  an  era  when  very  few  eminent  Hol- 
landers were  upon  the  public  stage.  Their  hatred 
towards  Louis  and  the  profligate  women  of  his  court 
was  a  feeling  very  congenial  to  the  Dutch,  and  they 
easily  fell  into  the  footsteps  of  those  who  gave  elo- 
quence to  their  antipathies  ;  and  thus  the  French  school 
established  its  dominion  over  the  whole  of  the  Nether- 
25* 


294  LITERATURE    OF    HOLLAND. 

lands.  The  country  was  deluged  with  a  flood  of 
translations,  imitations,  and  adaptations,  from  the  French 
drama ;  and  the  result  was,  the  introduction  of  a  false 
and  foreign  taste,  and  the  destruction  of  all  nationality 
in  literature.  As  a  curiosity  in  this  way,  we  may  men- 
tion the  translation  of  Fcnelon's  Telemachus,  by  a 
writer  of  great  fame  and  authority  in  his  day,  but  now 
forgotten  —  Feitama.  He  spent  twenty  years  upon  it, 
and  the  completion  of  the  work  was  announced  with  a 
flourish  of  trumpets  sufficient  to  have  shaken  the  walls 
of  Jericho.     This  delusion  was  soon  dissipated. 

The  "  Beggars  "  of  Van  Haren,  a  collection  of  odes,  is 
one  of  the  most  popular  of  Dutch  works.  Cornelia  Lau- 
nay,  Elizabeth  Wolff,  and  Agatha  Deken,  wrote  poems 
and  romances  which  exhibit  happy  pictures  of  manners. 
But  the  best  national  novels  are  those  of  Loosjes,  which 
are  very  numerous,  and  contain  accurate  delineations  of 
Dutch  society.  Bellamy,  a  poet  who  died  young,  pro- 
duced a  ballad  which  is  perhaps  the  most  touching  nar- 
rative in  the  literature  of  the  country.  It  is  of  a  beloved 
maiden,  born  at  her  mother's  death  ;  bred  up  amidst  the 
tears  and  kisses  of  her  father ;  prattling  thoughtlessly 
about  her  mother ;  the  admiration  of  every  one  for  beauty, 
cleverness,  and  virtue  ;  gentle  as  the  moon  shining  on 
the  downs.  Her  name  was  to  be  seen  written  again 
and  again  in  the  sands  by  the  Zeeland  youths,  and 
scarcely  a  beautiful  flower  bloomed  but  was  gathered 
for  her.  In  Zeeland,  when  the  south  winds  of 
summer  blow,  there  comes  also  a  delicate  fish  which 
hides  itself  in  the  sand,  and  which  is  dug  out  as  a  lux- 
ury by  the  young  people.  It  is  the  time  of  sport  and 
gayety;   and   they   venture   far  —  far,   over   the   flat 


LITERATURE    OF    HOLLAND.  295 

coast,  into  the  sea.  The  boys  drag  the  girls  among  the 
waves  ;  and  Roosie,  the  maiden,  was  so  dragged,  not- 
withstanding many  remonstrances.  "A  kiss!  a  kiss! 
or  you  go  farther!"  She  flies — he  follows  her,  both 
laughing.  "Into  the  sea!  into  the  sea!"  cry  all  their 
companions.  He  pushes  her  on :  it  is  deeper  and 
deeper.  She  shrieks  —  she  sinks  —  they  sink  together ! 
The  sands  were  faithless ;  there  was  no  succor ;  the 
waves  rolled  over  them  ;  —  there  weis  stillness  and 
death.     The  terrified  playmates  looked  — 

"  All  silently  they  looked  again,  — 

And  silently  sped  home  ; 
And  every  heart  was  bursting  then, 

But  every  tongue  was  dumb. 

And  still  and  stately  o'er  the  wave 
The  mournful  moon  arose,  • 

Flinging  pale  beams  upon  the  grave 
Where  they  in  peace  repose. 

The  wind  glanced  o'er  the  voiceless  sea, 
The  billows  kissed  the  strand ; 
.   And  one  sad  dirge  of  misery 
Filled  all  the  mourning  land." 

Tollens,  a  living  poet,  is  said  to  be  the  most  popular 
in  Holland ;  but  our  limits  will  allow  us  only  to  add 
the  following  specimen  from  Borger,  who  died  a  few 
years  since. 

Ode  on  the  Rhine. 

"  In  the  Borean  regions  stormy 

There's  silence  ;  battling  hail  and  rain 

Are  hushed  :  the  calm  Rhine  rolls  before  me, 
Unfettered  from  its  winter  chain. 


2d6  LITERATURE    OK    HOLLAND. 

Its  streams  their  ancient  channels  water, 
And  thousand  joyous  peasants  bring 
The  flowery  offerings  of  the  spring 

To  thee,  Mount  Gothard's  princely  daughter. 
Monarch  of  streams,  from  Alpine  brow, 

Who,  rushing,  whelm'st  with  inundations, 

Or,  sovereign-like,  divid'st  the  nations. 
Lawgiver,  all-imperial  thou ! 

I  have  had  days  like  thine  unclouded, 
Days  passed  upon  thy  pleasant  shore  ; 

My  heart  sprang  up  in  joy  unshrouded  ; 
Alas  !  it  springs  to  joy  no  more. 

My  fields  of  green,  my  humble  dwelling. 
Which  love  made  beautiful  and  bright 
To  me,  to  her,  —  my  soul's  delight,  — 

Seemed  monarchs'  palaces  excelling, 
When  in  our  little  happy  bower, 

Qr  'neath  the  starry  vault  at  even, 

We  walked  in  love,  and  talked  of  heaven. 
And  poured  forth  praises  for  our  dower. 

But  now  —  1  could  my  hairs  well  number, 

But  not  the  tears  my  eyes  which  wet : 
The  Rhine  will  to  their  cradle-slumber 

Roll  back  its  waves  ere  I  forget  — 
Forget  the  blow  that  twice  hath  riven 

The  crown  of  glory  from  my  head. 

God  !  1  have  trusted  —  duty-led ; 
'Gainst  all  rebellious  thoughts  have  striven, 

And  strive  —  and  call  thee  Father  still ; 
Say  all  thy  will  is  wisest,  kindest; 
Tet  twice  the  burden  that  thou  bindest 

Is  heavy  :  1  obey  thy  will ! 

At  Katwyk,  where  the  silenced  billow 

Thee  welcomes,  Rhine,  to  her  own  breast; 

There,  with  the  damp  sand  for  her  pillow, 
I  laid  my  treasure  in  its  nest. 


LITERATURE    OF    HOLLAND,  297 

My  tears  shall  with  thy  waters  blend  them ; 

Receive  those  briny  tears  from  me ; 

And  when  exhaled  from  the  vast  sea, 
To  her  own  grave  in  dew-drops  send  them  — 

A  heavenly  fall  of  love  for  her. 
Old  Rliine  !  tliy  waves  'gainst  sorrow  steel  them, 

0  no  !  man's  miseries  —  thou  canst  feel  them  — 
Then  be  my  grief's  interpreter; 

And  greet  the  babe  which  cartlfs  green  bosom 
Had  but  received,  when  she  who  bore 

That  lovely,  undeveloped  blossom 

Was  struck  by  death  —  the  bud  —  tlie  flower. 

1  forced  my  daugliter's  tomb  —  her  mother 
Bade  me  —  and  laid  the  slumbering  child 
Upon  that  bosom  undefiled. 

Where  —  where  could  1  have  found  another 
So  dear,  so  pure  P     'Twas  wrong  to  mourn. 

When  those  so  loving  slept  delighted,  , 

Should  1  divide  what  God  united  ? 
—  I  laid  them  in  a  common  urn. 

There  are  who  call  this  earth  a  palace 

Of  Eden,  who  on  roses  go. 
I  would  not  drink  again  life's  chalice, 

Nor  tread  again  its  paths  of  woe. 
I  joy  at  day's  decline  ;  the  morrow 

Is  welcome.     In  its  fearful  flight, 

I  count,  and  count,  with  calm  delight, 
My  five-and-thirty  years  of  sorrow 

Accomplisiiod.     Like  this  river,  years 
Roll  on.  —  Press,  tombstone,  my  departed 
Lightly,  and  o'er  the  broken-hearted 

Fling  your  cold  shield,  and  veil  his  tears." 

Notwithstanding  a  formidable   catalogue  of  names 
which  the  literature  of  Holland  offers  to  us,  it  is  easy 


298  LITER^.TURE    OF    HOLLAND. 

to  perceive  that  the  Dutch  have  fallen  into  the  very 
natural  error  of  exaggerating  the  number  and  the 
merits  of  their  great  men.  In  the  criticisms  which  oc- 
casionally appear  in  Holland,  it  is  amusing  to  see  a 
multitude  of  these  obscure  writers  classed  with  the 
master  spirits  of  the  world.  Yet  many  a  man 
whose  name  has  hardly  passed  the  borders  of  the 
Netherlands  exerts  a  great  influence  in  that  country ; 
c.nd  whoever  stamps  his  character  upon  society  de- 
serves the  attention  both  of  the  critic  and  the  phi- 
losopher. 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 


The  history  of  the  English  language,  which  seems 
destined  to  overspread  the  earth,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
history  of  the  people  from  whom  it  has  sprung.  The 
original  Britons  were  Celts  —  of  the  same  stock  as 
the  ancient  Gauls,  of  France.  When  Caesar  invaded 
their  island  about  half  a  century  before  the  Christian 
era,  all  the  British  islands  were  chiefly  inhabited  by 
this  race.  They  were,  for  the  most  part,  rude  and 
fierce.  A  small  portion  were  addicted  to  agriculture, 
and  had  made  some  advance  in  the  first  arts  of  civili- 
zation ;  but  the  greater  portion  were  savages,  either 
naked,  or  half  clad  in  skins,  and  living  nearly  in  the 
same  condition  as  the  Indians  of  our  own  continent. 

After  a  bloody  resistance,  the  inhabitants  of  Britain 
yielded  to  the  Roman  arms,  and  for  four  hundred 
years  they  remained  the  submissive  subjects  of  the 
queen  of  nations.  During  this  period,  Ireland  con- 
tinued in  a  state  of  wild  independence,  not  a  Roman 
soldier  ever  having  set  his  foot  on  the  shores  of  the 
"  Emerald  Isle."  In  the  fifth  century,  Rome  fell 
before  its  northern  invaders,  and  the  same  waves  that 
overwhelmed  the  south  of  Europe  were  at  last  felt  in 
Britain.  The  Scots,  who  had  not  been  thoroughly  sub- 
jugated by  the  imperial  generals,  began  immediately 


300  ENGLISH   LITERATURE. 

to  annoy  Iheir  southern  neighbors,  who  had  sunk  into 
imbecility.  The  latter  sought  the  aid  of  the  formi- 
dable warriors  of  the  north,  and  they,  nothing  loath, 
landed  upon  the  coast  A.  D.  449. 

This  first  body  of  Northmen  that  established  them- 
selves in  England,  were  of  a  tribe  called  Jutes^  and  were 
led  by  the  famous  Hengist  and  Horsa.  About  thirty 
years  after,  other  tribes,  called  Saxons,  arrived,  and  in 
527,  a  considerable  number  of  the  same  general  stock, 
denominated  Angles,  made  settlements  in  the  coun- 
try. Though  the  people  who  made  these  succes- 
sive invasions  were  of  different  tribes,  they  were  all  of 
the  Scandinavian  branch  of  the  Germanic  or  Teu- 
tonic family,  and  are  known  in  history  under  the  gen- 
eral name  of  Saxons.  The  name  of  England  came 
from  the  Angles  ;  and  as  the  basis  of  the  English  na- 
tion is  derived  from  the  Saxons  generally,  and  espe- 
cially from  the  particular  tribes  just  mentioned,  the 
English  people  are  said  to  be  of  Anglo-Saxon  descent. 

In  the  ninth  century,  the  Danes,  at  that  time  a  for- 
midable nation  of  sea  rovers,  made  several  incursions 
into  England,  and  for  more  than  a  century  continued 
to  harass  the  country.  They  even  conquered  the 
greater  part  of  it,  and  furnished  several  kings,  of  whom 
Canute  is  the  most  celebrated. 

The  Saxons  regained  their  ascendency  in  1041 ;  but 
in  1066,  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  invaded  the 
country,  and,  in  the  decisive  battle  of  Hastings,  re- 
moved every  obstacle  to  the  throne.  He  now  ruled 
with  a  high  hand  ;  he  introduced  the  French  language 
into  all  public  acts  and  laws ;  and  made  it  alike  that  of 
the  court  and  of  refined  society.     He  bestowed  a  mul- 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE  301 

titude  of  large  estates  upon  his  French  followers,  who 
now  constituted  the  nobility  ;  and  these,  of  course,  gave 
currency  and  fashion  to  their  native  tongue. 

The  language  of  the  common  people,  at  this  period, 
was  mainly  Saxon,  but  mixed  with  many  words  de- 
rived from  the  Britons,  Romans,  and  Danes,  whose 
blood  was  mingled,  in  greater  or  less  proportion,  with 
the  great  mass  of  the  nation.  England  at  this  period, 
and  for  some  considerable  time  after,  presented  the 
singular  spectacle  of  a  nation  of  whom  the  great  body 
spoke  a  tongue  radically  and  gcncrically  distinct  from 
that  of  the  wealthy  and  i-efmed,  and  even  of  the  clergy. 
An  old  writer  of  this  period  complains  that,  at  the 
schools,  the  children  of  the  common  people  were 
obliged  to  construe  their  lessons  into  French  ;  and 
Scott,  in  his  admirable  historical  novel  of  Ivanhoc, 
represents  a  swineherd  as  grumbling  that,  while  the 
names  of  animals  used  for  food  were  Saxon,  so  long 
as  they  were  living,  yet,  as  soon  as  dressed,  and 
ready  to  gratify  the  palate,  the  Frenchman  comes  in, 
and  claims  them  as  his  own,  by  giving  them  French 
designations.  The  instances  of  this,  cited  by  the 
sturdy  Englishman,  arc,  that  hog  becomes  pork ;  ox, 
ieef ;  sheep,  mutton ;  and  calf,  veal. 

The  process  in  respect  to  the  English  language, 
from  this  period,  was  to  extend  and  establish  the  original 
Saxon,  into  which,  however,  there  was  a  constant  filtra- 
tion of  French  words  and  idioms.  It  may  be  inter- 
esting to  observe,  as  far  as  we  are  able,  the  state  of  our 
mother  tongue  about  this  time,  and  to  note  not  only 
the  extremely  rude  aspect  which  it  then  bore,  but  how 
great  is  the  mutation  it  has  undergone  in  the  space  of 
xvir. — 26 


303  ENGLISH   LITfiRATTTEE. 

a  few  hundred  yenrs.  Robert  of  Glocester,  in  the 
Chronicle  which  bears  his  name,  affords  us  the  earhest 
specimen  of  what  may  be  strictly  called  English.  We 
take  a  few  lines  from  his  account  of  the  battle  of 
Evesham,  written  in  1280,  fifteen  years  after  the 
event : — 

"  Sir  Simon,  the  old,  com  the  Monendai  iwis. 
To  a  toun  biside  Wircetre,  that  Kenreseie  ihote  is. 
The  Tiwesday,  to  Evesham  he  wende  the  morweninge, 
And  there  lie  let  him  and  is  fole'prestes  massen  singe, 
And  thozte  to  wende  northward,  is  sone  vor  to  mete. 
Ac  the  king  nolde  a  vot,  bote  he  dined  other  ete. 
And  Sir  Simon  the  zonge  and  his  ost  at  Alcestre  were, 
And  nolde  thanne  wende  a  vot,  ar  hii  dinede  there." 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  song,  written  about  the 
same  period,  and  is  the  earliest  in  which  the  notes  are 
found  attached :  — 

"  Sumer  is  icumen  in, 
Lhude  sing  cuccu ; 
Groweth  sed. 
And  bloweth  med. 
And  springth  the  wde  nu  ; 

Sing  cuccu. 

Awe  bleteth  after  lomb, 
Lhouth  after  calve  cu  ; 
Bulluc  sterteth, 
Bucke  uerteth, 
Murie  sing  cuccu, 

Cuccu,  cuccu. 

Well  singes  thee  cuccu, 
Ne  swik  nauer  nu. 

Sing  cuccu  nu;  sing  cuccu. 

Sing  cuccu  ;  sing  cuccu  nu." 


ENGLISH   LITERATURE.  303 

The  earliest  English  love-song  which  the  researches 
of  Wliarton  discovered,  and  which  he  places  before 
or  about  the  year  1200,  is  contained,  with  other  verses 
apparently  of  the  same  antiquity,  in  the  Harleian  MSS. 
It  begins  — 

"  Jilow,  northern  wynd, 

Sent  thou  me  my  swetynge  ; 

Blow,  northern  wynd, 
Blow,  blow,  blow  ;  " 

is  full  of  alliteration,  and  has  a  burden,  or  chorus. 

In  Edward  III.'s  reign,  we  have  a  greater  choice  both 
in  prose  and  poetry.  —  We  give  a  specimen  from  a 
translation  of  the  Psalter,  written  apparently  very  soon 
after  Edward's  accession  :  — 

Ps.  I. 

"  Sell  biern  that  noght  is  gan 

In  the  rede  of  wicked  man. 

And  in  strete  of  sinfull  noght  he  stode, 

Ne  sat  in  setel  of  storme  ungode  ; 

Bot  in  lagh  of  lau'd  his  will  bei  n  ? 

And  his  lagh  think  he,  night  an  dai. 

And  ols  his  live  swa  sal  it  be, 

Als  it  fares  bi  a  tre, 

That  stremes  of  waters  set  es  ncre, 

That  gives  his  fruit  m  time  of  yhere ; 

And  lef  of  him  todreue  ne  sal. 

What  swa  he  does  sal  sounde  full  al." 

From  Sir  John  Mandeville's  Travels,  written  in  1356, 
we  make  an  extract  in  relation  to  Mahomet,  which  is 
not  less  curious  for  the  thought  than  the  expression :  — 

"  And  zee  schuU  vnderstonde  that  Machamote  was  born 
ia  Arabyc,  that  was  first  a  pore   knave  that  kept  cameles, 


304  ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

that  wenten  witli  marchantes  for  marchandize  ;  and  so  befell 
that  he  went  with  the  niarchandes  into  Egipt,  and  ther  were 
thanne  Cristene  in  the  partyes.  And  at  the  desartes  of 
Arabye,  he  wente  in  to  a  chapell  wher  a  eremite  duelte.  And 
whan  he  entred  in  to  the  chapell,  that  was  but  a  lytill  and 
a  low  thing,  and  had  but  a  lityl  dor'  and  a  low ;  than  the 
entree  began  to  wexe  so  gret,  and  so  large,  and  so  high,  as 
though  it  had  be  of  a  gret  mynstr,  or  the  zate  of  a  paleys. 
And  this  was  the  first  myracle,  the  Sarazins  seyn,  that  Ma- 
chomete  dide  in  his  zouthe.  After,  began  he  for  to  weie 
wyse  and  rich,  and  he  was  a  gret  astronomer,  and  after,  he 
was  gouernour  and  prince  of  the  lond  of  Corrodane,  and  he 
gouerned  it  full  wisely  in  such  manero,  that  whan  the  prince 
was  ded,  he  toke  the  lady  to  wyfe,  that  highte  Gadrige, 
And  Machomete  fell  often  in  the  grete  sikeness  that  men 
calle  the  fallynge  euyll.  Wherfore  the  lady  was  full  sory 
that  eure  sche  toke  him  to  husbonde.  But  Machomete  made 
hire  to  beleeve  that  all  tymes  when  he  fell  so,  Gabriel  the 
angel  cam  for  to  speke  with  him,  and  for  the  grete  light  and 
brightnesse  of  the  angell,  he  myghte  not  susteyne  him  from 
fallynge.  And  therefore  the  Sarazines  seyn  that  Gabriel 
cam  often  to  speke  with  him.  This  Machomete  regned  in 
Arabye,  the  zeer  of  our  Lord  Jhesu  Crist  sixe  hundred  and 
ten,  and  was  of  the  generacion  of  Ysmael." 

In  1349,  a  dreadful  pestilence  visited  England,  and 
fell  with  desolating  effect  upon  the  clergy,  who  had 
hitherto  been  the  chief  educators  of  youth.  As  before 
stated,  they  spoke  French,  and  probably  as  well  ia 
obedience  to  the  policy  of  government,  as  their  own 
taste,  they  gave  a  preference  to  that  language.  In 
consequence,  however,  of  so  many  having  died  by  the 
plague,  other  masters  began  to  teach  in  the  seminaries. 
By  degrees  a  change  was  effected  ;  and  in  1385,  an 
instructor  named  Cornwall,  for  the  first  time,  intro- 
duced English  as  the  language  of  his  school.     The 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  305 

following  specimen  is  taken  from  the  Vision  of  Pierce 
Ploughman,  written  in  1362,  and  shows  the  state  of 
the  language  about  this  period  :  — 

"  In  a  somcr  season,  when  sot  was  the  sunne, 

I  shope  me  into  shroubs,  as  1  a  shepe  were  ; 

In  habyte  as  an  herniet,  unholy  of  werkes, 

Went  wyde  in  thys  world  wonders  to  here ; 

And  on  a  May  morning,  on  Malverne  hilles, 

Me  befel  a  ferl}',  of  a  fayry  me  thought. 

I  was  wery  of  wandering,  and  went  me  to  rest 

Under  a  brode  bank,  by  a  bourne  side, 

And  as  1  lay,  and  lened,  and  lokcd  on  the  water, 

1  slombred  into  a  sleping,  it  swyzcd  so  mery." 

The  celebrated  John  Wicklif  finished  his  translation 
of  the  Bible  in  1382.  The  Old  Testament  was  never 
published ;  but  from  the  New,  which  was  printed  after 
his  death,  we  make  the  following  e.vtract :  — 

"  But  in  o  day  of  the  woke  ful  eerli  thei  camon  to  the 
grave,  and  broughten  swete  smelling  spices  that  thei  hadden 
arayed.  And  thei  founden  the  stoon  turnyd  awey  fro  the 
grave.  And  thei  geden  in,  and  founden  not  the  bodi  of  the 
Lord  Jhesus.  And  it  was  don  the  while  thei  weren  as- 
tonyed  in  thought  of  this  thing,  lo,  twey  men  stodeen  bisidis 
hem  in  schynyng  cloth.  And  whanne  thei  dredden  and 
bowiden  her  semblaunt  into  erthe,  thei  seiden  to  hem, 
what  seeken  ye  him  that  lyueth,  with  deede  men  .'  lie  is 
not  here  :  but  he  is  risun  :  haue  ye  minde  how  he  spak  to 
you  whanne  he  was  yit  in  Golilee,  and  soide  for  it  belioueth 
manncs  sone  to  be  bitakun  into  the  hondis  of  sinful  men; 
and  to  be  crucifyed ;  and  the  thridde  day  to  rise  agen .'  " 

John  Gowcr,  professor  of  law,  and  chief  justice  of 
common  pleas,  in  England,  was  born  in  1320,  and  his 
works  were   published  in   1483.     The  following  is  an 
extract  from  his  "  Confessio  Amantis  : "  — 
T        26* 


306  ENGLISH   LITERATURE. 

"  In  a  croniq  I  fynde  thus, 
How  that  Caius  Fabricius 
Wich  whilome  was  consul  of  Rome, 
By  whome  the  lawes  yede  and  come, 
Whan  the  Sampnitees  to  him  brouht 
A  somme  of  golde,  and  hym  by  souht 
To  done  hem  fauoure  in  the  lawe, 
Towarde  the  golde  he  gan  him  drawe . 
Whereof,  in  alle  mennes  loke, 
A  part  into  his  honde  he  tooke, 
Wich  to  his  mouthe  in  alle  haste 
He  put  it  for  to  smelle  and  taste, 
And  to  his  ihe,  and  to  his  ere, 
But  he  ne  fonde  no  comfort  there. 
And  thanne  he  began  it  to  despise. 
And  tolde  vnto  hem  in  this  wise  : 
'  1  not  what  is  with  golde  to  thryve, 
Whan  none  of  alle  my  wittes  fyve 
Fynt  savour  ne  delight  ther  inne ; 
So  is  it  bot  a  nyce  synne 
Of  golde  to  ben  to  coveitous ; 
Bot  he  is  riche  an  glorious 
Wich  hath  in  his  subieccion 
The  men  wich  in  possession 
Ben  riche  of  golde,  and  by  this  skile, 
For  he  may  alda}',  whan  he  wille. 
Or  be  him  leef,  or  be  him  loth, 
Justice  don  vppon  hem  bothe." 

We  now  approach  a  period  in  which  our  language 
acquired  greater  polish,  and  began  to  assume  its  pres- 
ent form ;  but  before  we  proceed  farther,  we  shall 
notice  some  of  the  old  ballads,  which  must  be  regarded 
as  interesting  memorials  of  the  days  in  which  they 
were  composed,  and  indications  of  the  spirit  which 
animated  the  breasts  of  our  remote  ancestors.  Though 
of  a  rude,  inartificial  character,  they  are  marked  with 


ENGLISH   LITERATTJHE.  307 

a  homely  truth,  and  innocent  directness,  which  speak 
of  a  time  when  poets  wrote  because  they  had  some- 
thing to  say,  In  contrast  to  our  own  time,  when  men 
have  something  to  say  because  they  must  write. 

It  appeal's  that  the  several  northern  tribes  who  settled 
in  England  were  attended  by  their  bards,  who  united 
the  characters  of  poet  and  minstrel,  composing  verses, 
and  rehearsing  them,  generally  with  the  use  of  a  harp, 
and  often  with  mimicry  and  acting.  These  gained 
ready  access  to  the  houses  of  the  great,  hung  about 
the  camps,  and  found  their  way  into  the  courts  of  kings. 

Among  the  Danish  and  Saxon  races,  these  bards  were 
called  Scalds,  as  before  stated;  and  such  was  the 
renown  in  which  they  were  held,  that  their  powers 
were  attributed  to  divine  inspiration.  The  skill  and 
station  of  the  minstrel  declined  towards  the  middle 
ages,  and  he  was  no  longer  held  in  so  high  estimation ; 
but  the  harpers  still  continued  to  wander  from  place  to 
place;  and  such  was  the  entertainment  they  afforded, 
that  the  word  glee  was  the  common  designation  of 
their  art.  The  favor  still  bestowed  upon  these  persons, 
in  the  time  of  Alfred,  is  sufficiently  evinced  by  the 
fact  that,  in  the  disguise  of  an  itinerant  minstrel,  that 
prince  found  ready  access  to  the  Danish  camp. 

We  need  not  further  trace  the  custom  to  which  we 
allude,  as  enough  has  been  said  to  show  in  what  way 
many  of  the  old  English  ballads  had  their  origin.  Of 
course  there  are  none  now  extant  of  so  great  antiquity 
as  the  period  of  which  we  have  been  speaking ;  but  as 
the  minstrels  continued  even  down  to  the  time  of  Eliz- 
abeth, we  see  that  to  them  we  are  indebted  for  most 
of  those  which  are  now  extant.     The  themes  which 


OW  ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

these  bards  delighted  to  celebrate,  were  feats  of  arms, 
and  the  adventures  attendant  upon  the  gentle  pas- 
sion. We  therefore  find  that  the  ancient  rhymes  are 
mainly  devoted  to  these  topics  —  which  in  every  age 
have  touched  the  sympathies  of  mankind. 

One  of  the  most  celebrated  of  British  ballads  is  that 
of  Chevy  Chace.  The  poem  under  this  name  which 
is  generally  known,  and  which  begins  as  follows,  — 

"  God  prosper  long  our  noble  king, 

Our  lives  and  safetyes  all !  — 
A  woefull  hunting  once  there  did 

In  Chevy  Chace  befall !  "  &c., 

is  not  the  original  one,  but  of  comparatively  modern 
date.  The  most  ancient,  and  doubtless  the  first,  was 
written,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  day,  in  contin- 
uous lines,  like  prose,  and  began  thus  :  — 

The  first  Fit. 

"  The  Pers6  owt  of  Northombarland  !  — 

And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 
That  he  wolde  hunte  in  the  mountayns 

Of  Chyviat  within  dayes  thre, 
In  the  manyer  of  doughte  Dogles, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be,"  &c. 

There  has  been  no  little  antiquarian  research  to  dis- 
cover the  historical  event  celebrated  by  this  famous 
ballad ;  and  though  the  subject  is  still  involved  in 
doubt,  the  story  itself  is  sufficiently  clear.  The  battle 
had  its  origin  in  the  rivalry  of  the  Percies  and  Doug- 
lases for  honor  in  arms.    Their  castles  and  lands  lay  on 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  309 

the  border ;  their  pennons  often  met  on  the  marches  ; 
their  war-cries  were  raised,  either  in  hostility  or  defi- 
ance, when  the  border  riders  assembled  ;  and  though 
the  chiefs  of  those  haughty  names  had  encountered  on 
fields  of  battle,  this  seemed  to  stimulate  rather  than 
satisfy  their  desire  of  glory.  In  the  spirit  of  those 
chivalrous  times,  Percy  made  a  vow  that  he  would 
enter  Scotland,  take  his  pleasure  in  the  border  woods 
for  three  summer  days,  and  slay,  at  his  will,  the  deer 
on  the  domains  of  his  rival.  "  Tell  him,"  said  Doug- 
las, when  the  vaunt  was  reported,  "  tell  him  he  will 
find  one  day  more  than  enough."  Into  Scotland,  with 
fifteen  hundred  chosen  archers  and  greyhounds  for  the 
chase,  Percy  marched  accordingly,  at  the  time  "  when 
yeomen  win  their  hay."  The  dogs  ran,  the  arrows 
flew,  and  great  was  the  slaughter  among  the  bucks  of 
the  border.  As  Percy  stood  and  gazed  at  "a  hundred 
dead  fallow-deer,"  and  "harts  of  grice,"  and  tasted 
wine,  and  venison  hastily  cooked  under  the  greenwood 
tree,  lie  said  to  his  men,  "  Douglas  vowed  he  would 
meet  me  here  ;  but  since  he  is  not  come,  and  we  have 
fulfilled  our  promise,  let  us  begone."  With  that,  one 
of  his  squires  exclaimed  — 

"  '  Lo,  yonder  doth  Earl  Douglas  come, 

Hi3  men  in  armor  brigiit; 
Full  twenty  hundred  chosen  spears, 

All  marching  in  our  sight;  — 

All  men  of  pleasant  Teviot  Dale, 

Fast  by  the  River  Tweed.' 
'  O,  cease  your  sport,'  Earl  Percy  said, 

•  And  take  your  bows  with  speed.'  " 


310  ENGLISH   LITEEATUEE. 

It  was,  indeed,  high  time  to  quit  the  chase  of  the 
deer,  and  feel  that  their  bowstrings  were  unchafed  and 
serviceable,  for  stern  work  was  at  hand.  The  coming 
of  the  Scots  is  announced  with  a  proper  minstrel 
flourish :  — 

"  Earl  Douglas,  on  his  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company, 

Whose  armor  shone  like  gold. 

'  Show  me,'  said  he,  '  whose  men  you  be 

That  hunt  so  boldly  here ; 
That  without  my  consent  do  chase. 

And  kill  my  fallow-deer.'  " 

To  this  haughty  demand,  the  first  man  that  made 
answer  was  Percy  himself.  He  replied,  "  We  choose 
not  to  say  whose  men  we  are ;  but  we  will  risk  our 
best  blood  to  slay  these  fallow-deer."  "  By  St.  Bride, 
then,  one  of  us  shall  die !  "  exclaimed  Douglas,  in 
anger.  "  I  know  thee  :  thou  art  an  earl  as  well  as 
myself,  and  a  Percy  too;  so  set  thy  men  aside,  for 
they  have  done  me  no  offence.  Draw  thy  sword,  and 
let  us  settle  this  feud  ourselves !  "  and  he  sprang  to  the 
ground  as  he  spoke.  "  Be  he  accursed,"  replied 
Percy,  "  who  says  nay  to  this ! "  and  he  drew  his 
sword  also. 

The  battle  now  began  in  earnest,  and  a  terrible 
slaughter  ensued  on  both  sides.  It  was  a  contest  of 
foot  to  foot,  and  hand  to  hand ;  and  finally  the  two 
leaders  met,  and,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  Douglas 
fell.  Percy  was  himself  soon  after  slain  ;  but  the 
conflict  did  not  close  with  the  death  of  the  chiefs.     The 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  311 

battle  began  at  break  of  day.  Douglas  and  Percy  are 
supposed  to  have  fallen  in  the  afternoon  ;  but  squires 
and  grooms  carried  on  the  contention  till  the  sun  was 
set ;  and  even  when  the  evening  bell  rang,  it  was 
scarcely  over.  "Of  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears," 
says  the  English  version  of  the  ballad,  "  scarce  fifty- 
five  did  flee."  "  Of  fifteen  hundred  English  spears," 
says  the  northern  edition,  "  went  home  but  fifty-three." 
So  both  nations  claim  the  victory  ;  but  in  an  older 
copy,  the  minstrel  leaves  it  undecided  ;  though  Frois- 
sart,  in  the  account  which  he  drew  from  kniglits  of 
both  lands,  says  that  the  Scotch  were  the  conquerors. 
On  both  sides,  the  flower  of  the  border  chivalry  were 
engaged.  The  warlike  names  of  Lovel,  Heron,  Wed- 
dington,  Liddel,  Ratcliffe,  and  Egcrton,  were  sulTering 
on  the  side  of  the  Pcrcics  ;  while  with  Douglas  fell 
Montgomery,  Scott,  Swinton,  Johnstone,  Maxwell,  and 
Stewart  of  Dalwinton.  The  pennon  and  spear  of 
Percy  were  carried,  with  Montgomery's  body,  to  the 
castle  of  Eglinton  ;  and  it  is  said  that  when  a  late  Duke 
of  Northumberland  requested  their  restoration,  tho 
Earl  of  Eglinton  replied,  "There  is  as  good  lea-land 
here  as  on  Chevy  Chace.  Let  Percy  come  and  lake 
them." 

"  We  shall  not  attempt,"  says  the  Penny  Magazine, 
"to  vindicate  our  admiration  of  this  ballad,  by  quoting 
the  praise  of  Sidney,  the  criticism  of  Addison,  or  the 
commendation  of  Scott ;  there  are,  we  believe,  few 
memories  without  a  portion  of  it.  We  have  heard  it 
quoted  by  the  dull  as  well  as  by  the  bright;  by  the 
learned  as  well  as  by  the  illiterate  ;  nay,  we  once 
heard  an  accomplished  lady  sing  it  to  the  harp  ;    while 


312  ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

the  greatest  genius  of  our  isle  since  the  days  of 
Milton  witnessed  its  beauty  by  his  tears.  Nor  was  it 
alone  the  heroism  and  chivalry  of  the  ballad  which  called 
forth  such  testimony  ;  it  contains  bits  of  tenderness 
which  our  painters  as  well  as  our  poets  have  felt :  — 

'  Next  day  did  many  widows  come, 

Their  husbands  to  bewail ; 
They  washed  their  wounds  in  brinish  tears, 

But  all  woiild  not  prevail. 

Their  bodies,  bathed  in  purple  gore, 

They  bore  with  them  away  ; 
And  kist  them  dead  a  thousand  times. 

Ere  they  were  clad  in  clay.'  " 

Among  the  more  celebrated  of  the  ancient  English 
ballads,  we  may  name  the  Children  in  the  Wood, 
Robin  Hood,*  Sir  Cauline,  the  Childe  of  Elle,  Robin 
Goodfellow,  Sir  Andrew  Barton,  King  Edward  and 
the  Tanner  of  Tamworth,  &c.  There  are  still  many 
others,  of  various  degrees  of  merit,  most  of  them  pos- 
sessing the  sterling  qualities  which  characterize  the 
productions  of  those  bygone  days. 

The  ballads  of  Scotland,  many  of  which,  being  set  to 
music,  have  come  down  to  our  time,  are  of  a  more 
tender  character  than  most  of  those  above  cited.  The 
larger  portion  have  undergone  great  smoothing  and 
polishing,  and  in  many  cases  the  original  form  is  en- 
tirely lost.  There  are  a  few,  however,  that  are  of 
admitted  antiquity,  and  display  a  delicacy  and  depth 
of  feeling   which   seem   in    strange    contrast   to   the 

*  For  an  account  of  Robin  Hood,  see  Curiosities  of  Hu- 
man Nature. 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  313 

rude  limes  in  which  ihey  were  composed.  The  fol- 
lowing ancient  lyric,  still  sung  to  one  of  the  sweetest 
airs  ever  composed,  is  marked  with  a  rustic  simplicity 
well  suited  to  the  subject :  — 

The  Ew-Buglits,  31arioii. 

"  Will  ze  gac  to  the  ew-bughts,  Marion, 

And  wear  in  the  shcip  wi  inee  ? 
The  sun  shines  sweit,  my  Marion, 

But  nae  half  sao  sweit  as  tliee. 
O,  Marion  's  a  bonnie  lass  ; 

And  the  blyth  blinks  in  her  ce ; 
And  fan  wad  I  marrie  Marion, 

Gin  Marion  wad  marrie  mee. 

Thcirc's  gowd  in  zour  garters,  Marion ; 

And  siller  on  zour  white  hauss-bane  :  * 
Fou  faine  wad  I  kiss  my  Marion 

At  eene,  quhan  I  cum  hame. 
Theire's  braw  lads  in  Earnslaw,  Marion, 

Quha  gape,  and  glowr  wi'  their  ee. 
At  kirk,  quhan  they  sec  my  Marion ; 

Bot  nane  of  them  lues  like  mee. 

I've  nine  milk  ewes,  my  Marion, 

A  cow  and  a  brawncy  quay  ; 
Ise  gie  tham  au  to  my  Marion, 

Just  on  her  bridal  day. 
And  zees  get  a  grein  sey  apron. 

And  waistcote  o'  London  brown  ; 
And  wow  bot  ze  will  be  vaporing 

Quhane'er  ze  gang  to  the  toan. 

Ime  yong  and  stout,  my  Marion  ; 
None  dance  like  mee  on  the  greine ; 

•  Hau88-banc,  i.  e.  the  neck-bone. 
XVH.— 'J7 


314  ENGLISH   LITERATURE. 

And  gin  ze  forsake  me,  Marion, 

Ise  een  gae  draw  up  wi'  Jeane. 
Sae  put  on  zour  pearlins,  Marion, 

And  kirtle  oth'  cramasie, 
And  sune  as  my  chin  has  nae  haire  on, 

1  sail  cum  west  and  see  zee." 

We  cannot  pursue  this  part  of  our  subject  farther 
than  to  say,  that  the  love  of  the  Scotch  •  for  their  an- 
cient ballads  is  fully  justified  by  the  excellence  of 
their  composition ;  yet  we  suspect  they  owe  their 
longevity  in  a  great  degree  to  the  music  with  which 
they  have  been  long  associated.  There  is  no  ear  so 
simple  or  so  refined  as  not  to  be  charmed  with 
Scottish  melodies ;  and  it  enhances  our  admiration 
to  know  that  many  of  them,  which  touch  the  finest 
cords  of  the  heart,  were  composed  centuries  ago, 
among  a  people  in  many  respects  in  the  rudest  state 
of  barbarism.  We  need  only  add,  that  the  Scottish 
minstrelsy  at  the  present  day,  including  alike  the 
poetry  and  music,  presents  by  far  the  finest  and  most 
characteristic  collection  of  national  song  in  the  world. 

We  now  turn  to  follow  the  progress  of  English 
literature,  in  its  development,  from  the  middle  of  the 
fourteenth  century.  Chaucer,  born  in  1328,  is  often 
denominated  the  father  of  English  poetry.  He  was 
probably  educated  at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  and 
enjoyed  during  his  life  the  patronage  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
Duke  of  Lancaster,  whose  sister-in-law  he  married, 
and  through  whose  influence  he  obtained  the  favor 
both  of  King  Edward  III.,  and  his  successor,  Richard 
II.  His  prosperity  was  clouded  for  a  short  time,  during 
the  early  part  of  Richard's  reign,  by  his  connection 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  315 

with  the  followers  of  Wicklif;  but  his  old  age  was 
passed  in  uninterrupted  ease.  He  was  interred  in 
Westminster  Abbey.    • 

Chaucer  excels  in  the  description  both  of  human 
character  and  of  natural  scenery.  His  delineations 
of  character  and  manners  are  distinguished  for  their 
rich  numor,  and  for  their  minute  and  graphic  portrait- 
ures. They  seem  like  pictures  drawn  from  real  life, 
rather  than  inventions  of  fancy.  His  descriptions  of 
natural  objects  are  fresh  and  beautiful.  His  poetry 
sometimes  exhibits  sublimity  and  true  pathos.  Yet  its 
moral  tendency  is  too  generally  sensual  and  degraded ; 
insomuch  that  we  may  rejoice,  notwithstanding  its 
various  excellence,  that  its  obsolete  dialect,  and  its 
frequently  tedious  prolixity,  remove  it  from  the  perusal 
of  any  persons  whose  taste  and  moral  principles  arc 
not  firmly  established,  or  whose  susceptible  m.nds 
might  be  injured  by  its  influence. 

As  the  reader  may  be  curious  to  see  a  specimen  of 
Chaucer's  poetry,  as  he  wrote  it,  and  not  in  its  mod- 
ernized orthography,  we  annex  a  specimen,  descrip- 
tive of  the  "  clerk,"  from  his  "  Canterbury  Tales  :  "  — • 

"  A  clerk  there  was  of  Oxenforde  also, 
Tliat  unto  logike  Iiaddc  long  ygo. 
As  lene  was  his  hors  as  is  a  rake, 
And  he  was  not  right  fat,  I  undertake ; 
But  lokcd  holwe,  and  thcrto  soberly. 
Ful  tiiredbarc  was  overest  courtepy, 
For  he  haddo  getcn  him  yet  no  benefice  : 
No  was  nought  worldly  to  have  an  office ; 
For  him  was  lever  han  at  his  beddcs  bed, 
Twenty  bokes  clothed  in  blakc  or  red, 


316  ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

Of  Aristotle,  and  his  philosophic, 

Then  robes  riche,  or  fidel,  or  sautrie. 

But  all  be  that  he  was  a  philosophre, 

Zet  had  he  but  litcl  golde  in  cofre  : 

But  all  that  he  might  of  his  frcndes  hente 

On  bokes  and  on  Icrning,  he  it  spente, 

And  besily  gan  for  the  soules  praie, 

Of  hem  that  yave  him  wherwith  to  scolaie. 

Of  studie  toke  he  most  eure  and  hede  ; 

Not  a  word  spake  he  more  than  was  nede, 

And  that  was  said  in  form  and  reverence, 

And  short,  and  quike,  and  full  of  high  sentence  : 

Touring  in  moral  vertue  was  his  speche, 

And  gladly  wolde  he  lerne,  and  gladly  teche." 

Between  Chaucer  and  Spenser  a  long  interval  of 
barrenness  elapsed ;  yet  we  may  state  that,  during  this 
period,  William  Caxtori  first  introduced  the  art  of  print- 
ing into  England  —  an  event  which  took  place  in  1474. 
He  established  his  press  near  Westminster  Abbey,  and 
first  printed  the  Dictes  and  Notable  Wyse  Sayenges 
of  the  Phylosophers,  &c.  The  state  of  the  public  taste 
during  Caxton's  time  may  be  inferred  from  the  titles  of 
the  principal  books  he  printed,  which  were  as  follows  : 
Pilgrimage  of  the  Soul ;  Liber  Festivalis,  or  Directions 
for  keeping  Feasts  all  the  Year ;  Quatuor  Sermones ; 
the  Golden  Legend  ;  the  Art  and  Craft  to  know  and 
to  die  ;  the  Life  of  St.  Catharine  of  Sens ;  a  Book 
of  divers  Ghostly  Matters ;  the  History  of  Troy ; 
Life  of  Jason  ;  Godfrey  of  Boloyn ;  the  Knight  of 
the  Tower ;  a  Book  of  the  noble  Histories  of  King 
Arthur ;  the  Book  of  Feats  of  Arms ;  Renard  the 
Fox ;  Fables  of  Esop,  &c.  Many  of  these  were  trans- 
lated by  Caxton   from   the  French,   and  all  together 


ENGLISH   LITERATURE.  317 

show  that  the  age  was  one  which  craved  a  strange 
mixture  of  devotion  and  romance. 

It  IS  a  curious  fact,  that  the  century  after  the  art 
of  printing  was  introduced  into  England  was  one  in 
which  the  cause  of  literature,  general  education, 
and  morals,  seemed  at  a  parti«ularly  low  ebb.  Roger 
Ascham,  the  tutor  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  tells  ua 
that,  although  the  English  court  did  contain  fair  ex- 
amples for  youth  to  follow,  yet  they  were  "  like  fair 
marks  in  the  field,  out  of  a  man's  reach  too  far  to 
shoot  at  well ;  "  while  the  generality  of  persons  found 
there  were  the  worst  of  characters.  "  Some  private 
letters  of  the  time  of  Elizabeth,"  says  the  historian, 
"  which  have  been  printed,  describe  the  court  as  a 
place  where  there  was  little  godliness  and  exercise  of 
religion,  and  where  all  enormities  reigned  in  the 
highest  degree."  But  what  is  more  important  for 
our  present  purpose  to  observe  is,  "that  the  learning 
which  existed  in  this  age,  however  remarkably  it  may 
have  shone  forth  in  particular  instances,  was  by  no 
means  generally  difi'iiscd,  even  among  the  higher 
classes ;  while  the  generality  of  the  lower,  and  many 
even  of  the  middle  classes,  remained  to  the  end  of  the 
period  almost  wholly  uneducated  and  illiterate.  The 
father  of  Shakspcre,  an  alderman  of  Stratford,  appears 
to  have  been  unable  to  write  his  name ;  and  probably, 
throughout  the  community,  for  one  man  that  was 
scholar  enough  to  subscribe  his  signature,  there  were 
a  dozen  who  could  only  make  their  marks.  With  all 
the  advancement  the  country  had  made  in  many  re- 
spects, it  may  be  doubted  if  popular  education  was 
farther  extended  at  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth 
27* 


318  ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

than  it  was  at  the  commencement  of  that  of  her  father 
or  her  grandfather.  Even  the  length  of  time  that 
printing  had  now  been  at  work,  and  the  multiplication 
of  books  that  must  have  taken  place,  had  probably  but 
very  little,  if  at  all,  extended  knowledge,  and  the 
habit  of  reading,  among  tfie  mass  of  the  people." 

But  notwithstanding  this  lamentable  condition  of 
society,  the  time  was  rapidly  approaching  when  the 
foundation  was  to  be  laid  for  great  advancement  in 
every  branch  of  human  knowledge,  for  the  improve- 
ment of  the  English  language,  and  the  lasting  eleva- 
tion and  expansion  of  the  English  mind.  The  great 
mstruments  of  this  development  soon  appeared  upon 
the  stage  of  action ;  and  among  them  we  may  mention 
Edmund  Spenser,  who  was  born  at  London,  in  1553, 
of  an  ancient  and  honorable  family,  and  was  educated 
at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  He  was  the  friend  of 
Sir  Philip  Sidney ;  and  through  his  influence,  together 
with  that  of  his  other  patrons,  Lord  Grey  and  the  Earl 
of  Leicester,  obtained  from  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  1582, 
a  large  grant  of  land  in  Ireland.  His  residence  there 
was  romantic  and  pleasant.  He  was  visited  in  his  re- 
treat by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  to  whom  he  recited  his 
poetical  compositions,  and  by  whom  he  was  accom- 
panied to  London,  introduced  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  and 
persuaded  immediately  to  publish  the  first  books  of  the 
Fairy  Queen.  In  1597  he  was  compelled  by  an  Irish 
rebellion  to  fly  from  his  house ;  and  in  the  hurry  and 
confusion,  one  of  his  children,  being  unfortunately  left 
behind,  perished  in  its  conflagration.  He  died  in 
London,  two  years  after  this  melancholy  event,  broken- 
hearted, it  is  supposed,  and  comparatively  poor. 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  319 

Spenser  displays  in  his  poetry  an  invention  almost 
boundless,  and  a  fancy  extremely  exuberant  and  gor- 
geous. His  versification  is  rich,  flowing,  and  harmo- 
nious, to  a  degree  which,  perhaps,  no  succeeding  poet 
has  surpassed.  His  imagery  is  luxuriant  and  romantic. 
In  personification  and  allegoiy  he  is  occasional!)'  sub- 
lime. His  poetry  is  sweet  in  its  sentiment,  enchanting 
in  its  melody,  and  exceedingly  delightful  for  the  vein 
of  pensive  tenderness  and  pathos  which  runs  through 
the  whole  of  it. 

The  moral  tendency  of  the  Fairy  Queen  may  be 
learned  from  the  nature  of  its  leading  purpose,  which 
was,  in  the  words  of  the  poet,  that  of  "  fashioning  a 
gentleman  of  noble  person  in  virtuous  and  gentle  disci- 
pline." This  object  he  accomplishes  by  exhibiting 
twelve  diflercnt  knights,  each  of  which,  in  the  partic- 
ular adventure  allotted  to  him,  proves  an  example  of 
some  different  virtue  —  as  of  holiness,  temperance,  jus- 
tice, chastity  ;  and  has  one  complete  book  assigned  to 
him,  of  which  he  is  the  hero.  Besides  these  individ- 
ual examples,  he  exhibits  Prince  Arthur  as  his  princi- 
pal or  general  hero,  in  whose  character  he  professes  to 
portray  "  the  image  of  a  brave  knight  perfectea  in 
the  twelve  private  moral  virtues."  From  this  cele- 
brated pocrf  we  copy  a  brief  extract,  which  describes 
the  cell  of  a  hypocritical  hermit :  — 

"  A  little  lowly  hermitage  it  was, 

Down  in  a  dale,  hard  l)y  a  forest's  side, 
Far  from  resort  of  people,  that  did  pass 

In  travel  to  and  fro  ;  a  little  wide, 

There  was  a  holy  chapel  edified, 
Wherein  tlie  hermit  duly  wont  to  say 

His  holy  things  each  morn  and  eventide ; 


320  ENGLISH   LITERATURE. 

Thereby  a  crystal  stream  did  gently  play, 
Which  from  a  sacred  fountain  welled  forth  away. 

Arrived  there,  the  little  house  they  fill, 

Ne  look  for  entertainment,  where  none  was ; 
Rest  is  their  feast,  and  all  things  at  their  will ; 

The  noblest  mind  the  best  contentment  has. 

With  fair  discourse  the  evening  so  they  pass ; 
For  that  old  man  of  pleasing  words  had  store, 

And  well  could  file  his  tongue  as  smooth  as  glass. 
He  told  of  saints  and  popes,  and  evermore 
He  strowed  an  Ave-Mary  after  and  before. 

The  drooping  night  thus  creepeth  on  them  fast; 

And  the  sad  humor  loading  their  eyelids, 
As  messenger  of  Morpheus,  on  them  cast 

Sweet  slumbering  dew,  the  which  to  sleep  them  bids. 

Unto  their  lodgings  then  his  guests  he  rids  ; 
Where,  when  all  drowned  in  deadly  sleep  he  finds, 

He  to  his  study  goes ;  and  there  amidst 
His  magic  books,  and  arts  of  sundry  kinds. 
He  seeks  out  mighty  charms  to  trouble  sleepy  minds." 

Shakspere,*  who  was  not  only  the  greatest  dramatist 
of  modern  times,  but  whose  intellect  seems  to  tower 
above  that  of  other  great  men  as  IMont  Blanc  lifts  its 
snowy  forehead  over  the  surrounding  Alps,  was  born 
at  Stratford  upon  Avon,  in  1564.  His  genius  is  thus 
briefly  but  happily  delineated  by  Dryden :  "  He  was 
the  man  who,  of  all  modern,  and  perhaps  all  ancient 
poets,  had  the  largest  and  most  comprehensive  soul. 
All  the  images  of  nature  were  still  present  to  him  ;  and 
he  drew  them,  not  laboriously,  but  luckily  ;  when  he 

*  For  a  full  account  of  Shakspere,  Bacon,  and  Milton,  see 
Famous  Men  of  Modern  Times. 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  321 

describes  any  thing,  you  more  tlian  sec  it,  you  feel  it 
too.  Those  wlio  accuse  him  to  have  wanted  learning 
give  hioi  the  greater  commendation.  He  was  naturally 
learned.  He  needed  not  the  spectacles  of  books  to 
read  nature ;  he  looked  inwards  and  found  her  there." 

Another  great  man,  who  looms  up  in  the  distance  of 
three  centuries,  and  still  exercises  an  influence  upon 
mankind  scarcely  inferior  to  that  of  Shakspere,  was 
Francis  Bacon,  born  at  London  in  1561.  He  was  a 
courtier  and  chancellor;  and,  though  he  was  degraded 
from  this  office  for  corrupt  practices,  his  works  breathe 
a  spirit  of  virtue  and  wisdom,  and  his  philosophy 
abounds  in  deep  and  important  truth.  His  style  of 
writing,  even  when  treating  of  the  most  abstruse  sub- 
jects, is  rich  and  harmonious,  and  seems  to  possess  the 
power  of  strewing  the  paths  of  science  with  the  flowers 
and  perfumes  of  poetry. 

After  the  lapse  of  half  a  century,  another  great 
name  appears  on  the  lists  of  fame  —  and  one  which, 
taken  in  all  its  aspects,  is  more  than  any  other  the 
glory  of  England.  This  is  Milton,  the  author  of  Par- 
adise Lost.  As  a  poet,  he  ranks  with  Shakspere  and 
Homer ;  and  as  a  man,  he  rises  to  the  loftiness  of  his 
own  sublime  intellect.  He  was  not  faultless  ;  but  in  a 
life  of  peculiar  trials  —  in  the  midst  of  persecutions, 
poverty,  and  blindness —  he  displayed  a  magnanimity  of 
soul,  to  which  human  nature  has  aflurded  few  parallels. 

We  have  now  reached  a  period  when  the  English 
language  had  become  the  depository  of  the  works  of 
Spenser,  Shakspere,  Bacon,  and  Milton,  and  when  it 
had  received  nearly  its  present  form.  Though  the 
ortliography  of  Shakspere  differed  from  that  of  the 
u 


322  ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

present  day,  his  language  was  that  of  our  own  time. 
The  reader  will  find  little  in  the  writbgs  of  Milton, 
so  far  as  the  vehicle  of  thought  is  concerned,  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  the  productions  of  Scott  and 
Macau]  ey. 

Having  given  a  brief  history  of  the  origin  and  prog- 
ress of  English  literature  from  its  beginning  to  its 
maturity,  we  must  draw  our  sketch  to  a  close.  The 
time  of  Queen  Anne,  signalized  by  the  writings  of 
Pope,  Prior,  Steele,  Swift,  Addison,  Arbuthnot,  Con- 
greve,  and  other  great  men,  is  denominated  the  Au- 
gustan age  of  English  literature  ;  but  from  that  period 
to  the  present  hour,  a  constant  succession  of  bril- 
liant names  has  been  added  to  the  annals  of  letters. 
In  our  own  century,  Scott,  Byron,  Campbell,  Mackin- 
tosh, —  now  no  more,  —  and  Jeffrey,  Macauley, 
Moore,  and  Dickens,  still  living,  —  have  marked  the 
age  as  one  of  peculiar  richness  in  its  literary  pro- 
ductions. 

If  we  regard  the  whole  body  of  living  British  liter- 
ature, we  may  safely  pronounce  it  as  the  noblest  mon- 
ument of  intellectual  and  moral  greatness  which  any 
nation  has  hitherto  produced;  and  as  sharers  in  the 
blood  and  language  of  Britain,  we  may  participate  in 
the  honest  pride  which  such  a  consideration  is  fitted  to 
excite.  While  indulging  this  sentiment,  let  us  reflect 
that  pure  Christianity,  stern  morality,  and  manly  dig- 
nity, are  the  soul  of  English  literature,  however  some 
of  its  productions  may  breathe  another  spirit ;  and  that 
we,  who  enjoy  such  sources  of  instruction  in  our  mother 
tongue,  though  peculiarly  blessed,  are  under  peculiar 
responsibilities  to  use  our  privileges  aright. 


IRISH   LITERATURE. 


The  mass  of  the  Irish  nation  are  the  lineal  descend- 
ants of  the  Celtic  emigrants  who  first  peopled  the 
"  Green  and  Weeping  Island."  *  Partaking  of  the 
characteristics  of  their  ancestry,  they  are  of  a  lively 
and  imaginative  cast  —  a  fact  remarkably  displayed 
in  their  legends,  their  superstitions,  and  their  popular 
poetry.  The  art  of  poetry  appeans  to  have  been  culti- 
vated from  early  antiquity,  and  it  is  a  curious  fact  that 
rhyme  is  an  Irish  invention.  As  early  as  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, the  use  of  rhyme  was  familiar  among  the  Irish, 
as  well  in  their  vernacular  verses  as  those  which  they 
wrote  in  Latin.  It  may  be  remarked  here,  that  poetry-, 
in  its  infant  state,  is  seldom  separated  from  music,  and 
that  in  Ireland  many  of  the  early  fiocms  appear  to  have 
been  sung,  and  accompanied  by  the  harp,  or  emit. 
In  some  very  ancient  verses,  on  the  death  of  Columba, 
preserved  in  the  "  Annals  of  the  Four  Masters,"  wc 
find  allusion  to  this:  "  Like  a  song  of  the  cruit,  with- 
out joy,  is  the  sound  that  follows  our  master  to  the 
tomb  !  "     This  passage  reminds  us  of  Ossian  ;f  and  it 

*  For  a  skotch  of  tlio  early  history  of  Ireland,  and  a  notice 
of  her  bardic  legends,  sec  Lights  and  S/iadows  of  European 
History. 

t  Few  literary  questions  have  excited  more  angry  discua* 


324  IKISII    LITliliATURE. 

is  curious  to  remarlc  that  the  very  poems  which  Mac- 
pherson  pretends  were  Hteral  translations   of  ancient 

sion  tlian  that  of  the  authenticity  of  the  Ossianic  poems. 
Macpherson  was  a  Scotchman,  born  in  1738.  He  first  at- 
tracted public  attention  by  the  publication  of  the  above- 
mentioned  poems,  which  he  declared  to  be  translations  of 
Erse  songs,  which  he  had  collected  among  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland.  Soon  after  their  publication.  Dr.  Johnson  boldly 
declared  them  to  be  an  imposition,  so  far  as  they  claimed  to 
be  founded  upon  ancient  manuscripts.  Macpherson  replied 
in  an  angry  letter ;  and  Johnson  retorted,  challenging  the 
Scotchman  to  produce  the  manuscripts  which  he  professed 
to  have  translated.  These,  however,  were  not  forthcoming, 
though  the  author  continued  to  maintain  the  truth  of  his 
statement.  He  seems  to  have  obtained  the  confidence  of  the 
public ;  for  he  was  made  a  member  of  parliament,  and  ob- 
tained a  lucrative  office  from  the  government ;  and  when  he 
died,  in  1796,  he  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

After  Macpherson's  death,  the  question  of  the  origin  of 
the  Ossianic  poems  continued  to  be  warmly  discussed.  The 
national  pride  of  Scotland  was  enlisted  in  their  favor,  and, 
among  other  eminent  Scotchmen  who  maintained  their 
authenticity,  were  Lord  Karnes,  Arthur  Young,  and  Dr.  Blair. 
The  subject,  however,  has  undergone  a  thorough  sifting, 
and  it  is  proved,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  poems  of  Ossian 
were  written  by  Macpherson,  in  imitation  of  some  ancient 
fracrments,  found  among  the  Highlands,  and  that  the  story  of 
their  translation  from  Erse  originals  was  a  groundless  fiction. 

These  compositions,  notwithstanding  the  scandalous  false- 
hood connected  with  their  history,  are  among  the  most 
beautiful  productions  of  our  language.  In  sweetness  and 
melody  of  style,  they  are  almost  unrivalled.  It  is  said  that 
Bonaparte  seemed  as  much  delighted  with  them  as  was 
Alexander  with  the  Iliad ;  and  we  can  easily  imagine  that 
the  wild,  spasmodic  fancy  of  the  Corsican  might  sympathize 
with  the  giant  feats  and  ghostly  combats  of  the  Celtic  heroes, 
dimly  shadowed  forth  by  the  pretended  "son  of  Fingal." 


lEISH    LITERATURE.  325 

Erse  songs,  gathered  from  the  western  borders  of 
Scotland,  were,  in  fact,  suggested  by  Irish  poems, 
well  ascertained  to  have  been  composed  in  the  eleventh 
and  twelfth  centuries.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  frag- 
ments of  these  songs  were  current  among  the  Gaelic  in- 
habitants of  the  Hebrides  and  the  western  Highlands  ; 
but  the  people  of  these  portions  of  Scotland  were  but 
the  descendants  of  Irish  emigrants.  These  kept  up  a 
constant  intercourse  with  Ireland,  and,  adopting  the 
popular  poetry  of  the  latter  country,  made  these  bor- 
rowed lyrics  familiar  as  their  own.  But  Ireland  claims 
their  paternity ;  and  authentic  history  has  restored  them 
to  their  birthplace. 

The  popular  legends  of  the  Irish  eminently  display 
the  imaginative  character  of  the  people.  In  these,  the 
fairies  largely  participate,  seeming  in  Ireland  to  per- 
form even  more  extraordinary  feats  than  in  merry 
England.  The  banshee,  a  pure  Irish  invention,  is  a 
nondescript  being,  supposed  to  be  attached  to  particular 
families,  and  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  their  welfare. 
There  arc  few  ancient  houses  in  Ireland  unprovided 
with  this  domestic  spirit.  It  gives  notice  of  impending 
calamity,  and  a  death  in  the  family  is  always  foretold 
by  the  wailings  of  this  ill-omened  affacht.  As,  in 
England,  the  old-fashioned  witch  was  more  common 
than  the  wizard,  so  the  banshee  is  usually  of  the  witch's 
gender  ;  though  sometimes,  for  extraordinary  purposes, 
it  appears  to  be  of  the  other  sex.  This  formidable 
being  seems  to  fill  the  fancies  of  the  lower  Irish.  Even 
those  who  come  to  this  country  can  hardly  shake  off 
its  imaginary  visitations.  It  is  an  actor  in  many  of  the 
popular  legends  of  Ireland,  and  a  large  part  of  the 
XVII.— 28 


336  IRISH    LITERATURE. 

common  incidents  of  life  arc  more  or  less  attributed  to 
its  agency.  In  short,  the  Irisii  seem  to  have  a  power 
of  imagination  which  connects  every  object  and  inci- 
dent with  the  supernatural.  Whatever  is  mysterious  is 
referred  to  the  banshee  ;  whatever  is  uncertain  belongs 
to  St.  Patrick,  St.  Brigid,  or  some  other  saint.  It  is 
curious  to  observe  tliat,  througli  most  of  these  Irish 
legends  and  superstitions,  there  seems  to  be  a  percep- 
tion of  poetical  justice,  which  gives  success  to  virtue 
and  ill  fortune  to  vice. 

It  would  take  us  entirely  beyond  our  proper  limits 
to  go  at  large  into  the  field  of  Irish  literature ;  we 
mean  that  which  is  strictly  Irish,  and  of  a  date  anterior 
to  the  period  in  which  the  learning  of  Ireland  sought 
expression  in  the  English  tongue  :  much  less  can  we 
go  into  an  examination  of  the  numerous  and  rich  con- 
tributions which  Irish  genius  has  made  to  English  lit- 
erature. A  few  brief  notices  must  be  all  that  can  be 
bestowed  upon  these  fruitful  themes. 

Various  as  are  the  monuments  to  which  Ireland  can 
point,  as  mute  evidences  of  her  antiquity,  she  boasts  a 
more  striking  proof  in  the  living  language  of  her 
people  —  in  that  most  genuine,  if  not  only  existing, 
dialect  of  the  oldest  of  all  European  tongues,  and 
which,  by  whatever  name  it  may  be  called,  was  the 
vehicle  of  the  first  knowledge  that  dawned  upon  Eu- 
rope. In  the  still  written  and  spoken  dialect  of  this 
primeval  language,  Ireland  also  possesses  a  monument 
of  literary  antiquity  which  "  no  cavil  can  reach,  and 
no  doubts  disturb."  That  the  Irish  were  acquainted 
with  letters  before  the  time  of  St.  Patrick,  appears  to 
be  evident,  though  the  art  of  writing  was  doubtless  in  a 


IRISH    LITERATURE.  327 

rude  state,  and  confined  to  the  learned  or  Druidical 
class.  Their  materials  appear  to  have  been  tablets 
formed  of  the  wood  of  the  beech,  upon  which  they 
wrote  with  an  iron  pencil,  or  stylus. 

The  position  of  Ireland  in  respect  to  other  countries, 
at  this  period,  should  be  borne  in  mind.  Neither  the 
arts  nor  the  arms  of  Rome  ever  reached  this  island. 
From  the  earliest  periods  of  authentic  history  down  to 
the  invasion  of  the  Danes,  embracing  a  period  of 
nearly  a  thousand  years,  Ireland  remained  in  a  state 
of  seclusion  ;  her  kings  wrestling  among  themselves, 
but  her  green  turf  bearing  the  impress  of  no  foreign 
master.  Whatever  light,  therefore,  might  exist,  was 
kindled  from  native  fire.  Yet  it  is  to  be  remarked 
that,  from  the  establishment  of  the  Christian  religion 
by  St.  Patrick,  there  was  a  gradual  progress  in  learn- 
ing until  Ireland  became  the  most  illuminated  spot  on 
the  broad  map  of  Europe.  Passing  over  the  names  of 
Columbkill,  Killian,  and  other  distinguished  Irish 
scholars  of  the  si.\th  and  seventh  centuries,  we  come 
to  Virgilius,  who  flourished  about  the  year  750.  He 
was  not  only  distinguished  for  his  learning,  but  for  his 
dispute  with  the  English  missionary  Boniface,  over 
whom  he  signally  triumphed.  Some  ignorant  priest 
having  been  in  the  habit  of  using  bad  Latin  in  admin- 
istering baptism,  Boniface  commanded  Virgilius  to 
perform  the  ceremony  over  again.  This  he  resisted, 
and  Boniface  appealed  to  the  pope,  who  had  the  good 
sense  to  decide  in  favor  of  the  former.  Boniface,  thus 
rebuked,  became  the  enemy  of  Virgilius,  and  waited 
for  an  opportunity  to  seek  revenge.  At  length  the 
latter,  having  some  glimmering  notion  of  the  spherical 


328  IRISH    LITERATURE. 

form  of  the  eartli,  and  having  intimated  a  belief  in  the 
existence  of  antipodes,  was  accused  by  Boniface  of 
heresy,  and  again  brought  before  the  pope.  From 
this  accusation  he  found  means  of  clearing  himself, 
and  was  soon  after  elevated  to  the  see  of  Salzburg,  in 
Germany. 

We  must  pass  over  the  names  of  Clement,  Albinus, 
and  Dungal,  —  all  of  whom  appear  to  have  been  emi- 
nent men,  and  to  have  obtained  the  favorable  notice 
of  Charlemagne,  —  and  come  to  Donatus,  bishop  of 
Fiesole.  Of  the  writings  of  this  distinguished  indi- 
vidual we  give  the  following  extract,  from  a  translation 
in  O'Halloran's  History.  It  is  the  more  pertinent,  as 
it  recognizes  the  distinction  which  Ireland  at  this  time 
enjoyed,  for  her  advance  in  learning.* 

"  Far  westward  lies  an  isle  of  ancient  fame, 
By  nature  blessed,  and  Scotia  is  her  name 
Enrolled  in  books  ;  exhaustless  is  her  store 
Of  veiny  silver  and  of  golden  ore  ; 
Her  fruitful  soil  forever  teems  with  wealth, 
With  gems  her  waters,  and  her  air  with  health. 
Her  verdant  fields  with  milk  and  honey  flow ; 
Her  woolly  fleeces  vie  with  virgin  snow ; 
Her  waving  furrows  float  with  bearded  corn. 
And  arts  and  arms  her  envied  sons  adorn." 

But  by  far  the  most  remarkable  man  sent  forth 
during  these  ages,  was  the  learned  and  subtle  John 
Scotus,  who  flourished  about  the  year  850.     Such  was 

*  In  explanation  of  one  passage,  it  may  be  necessary  to 
say  that  Scotia,  or  Scotland,  was  the  designation  of  Ireland 
for  several  centuries  after  the  arrival  of  the  Scotic  or  Mile- 
sian colony. 


IBISH    LITERATURE.  329 

the  success  of  his  social  and  intellectual  powers,  that 
Charles  the  Bald  of  France  made  him  the  companion 
of  his  most  secluded  and  familiar  hours.  His  writings 
are  the  most  I'emarkable  productions  of  the  time,  and 
exerted  a  powerful  influence  upon  the  theology  of  this 
and  the  subsequent  age.  In  addition  to  his  immense 
European  reputation  as  a  scholar  and  metaphysician, 
we  may  remark  that  he  appears  to  have  been,  in  his 
intellectual  and  social  qualities,  a  perfect  representative 
of  the  genuine  Irish  character,  in  all  its  various  and 
versatile  combinations.  Possessing  humor  and  imagi- 
nation, with  powers  of  shrewd  and  deep  reasoning,  he 
yet  lavished  both  these  gifts  imprudently,  exhibiting, 
on  almost  all  subjects,  every  power  but  that  of  discre- 
tion. His  life,  in  its  social  relations,  seems  to  have 
been  marked  by  the  same  characteristic  anomalies  ; 
for,  while  the  simplicity  of  his  mind  and  manners,  and 
the  festive  play  of  his  wit,  endeared  him  to  his  private 
friends,  the  daring  heterodoxy  of  his  written  opinions 
alarmed  and  alienated  the  public,  and  made  him  at 
least  as  much  feared  as  admired. 

Such  are  a  few  of  those  stars  which  arose  from 
Ireland,  and  attracted  the  attention  of  Europe  during 
that  long  period  when  impending  darkness  was  brood- 
ing over  the  rest  of  the  world.  It  is  remarkable  that, 
when  all  beside  was  shadowed  with  ignorance  and 
gloom,  Ireland  was  the  seat  of  knowledge,  and  the 
focal  point  of  science.  In  the  eighth  century,  its 
reputation  was  so  well  established,  that  it  was  con- 
sidered the  mart  of  learning,  to  which  the  scholars 
from  every  part  of  Europe  were  attracted.  It  was  in 
those  days  that,  if  a  sage  were  missing,  it  was  said  of 
28* 


330  IRISH  LITERATURE. 

him,  "  He  has  gone  to  Ireland  to  perfect  himself  in 
scholarship."  On  this  subject  I  need  but  add,  that  it 
was  during  the  eighth  century,  that  what  has  been 
called  the  scholastic  philosophy  originated,  from  the 
eminent  divines  which  the  monasteries  of  Ireland 
poured  forth. 

In  confirmation  of  the  views  here  taken,  we  may 
offer  the  testimony  of  Dr.  Leland.  Where  he  is  speak- 
ing of  the  period  in  which  the  early  preachers  of  the 
gospel  visited  Ireland,  he  says, — 

"  Christianity,  as  then  taught,  although  it  could  not 
eradicate,  at  least  restrained,  the  national  vices.  A 
numerous  body  of  ecclesiastics,  secular  and  regular, 
quickly  swarmed  over  the  whole  country  ;  frequently 
became  umpires  between  contending  chieftains ;  and 
when  they  could  not  confine  them  within  the  bounds 
of  reason  and  religion,  at  least  terrified  them  by  de- 
nouncing vengeance  against  their  excesses.  An  ig- 
norant people  listened  to  their  tales  of  pretended  mir- 
acles with  a  religious  horror.  In  the  midst  of  everj.' 
provincial  contest,  every  domestic  strife,  they  were 
sacred  and  inviolate.  They  soon  learned  to  derive 
their  own  emolument  from  the  public  veneration.  The 
infant  church  was  every  where  amply  endowed,  and 
the  prayers  of  holy  men  repaid  by  large  donations. 
Some  of  the  oldest  remains  of  Irish  literature  inform 
us,  that  the  people  were  taught  to  dedicate  the  first- 
born of  all  cattle  to  the  church,  as  a  matter  of  indis- 
pensable obligation.  But  if  the  clergy  thus  acquired 
riches,  they  applied  them  to  the  noblest  purposes. 
The  monks,  says  Mr.  O'Connor,  fixed  their  habitations 
in  deserts,  which  they  cultivated  with  their  own  hands. 


IRISH    LITERATURE.  331 

and  rendered  the  most  delightful  spots  in  the  kingdom. 
These  deserts  became  cities ;  and  it  is  remarkable 
enough,  that  to  the  monks  we  owe  so  useful  an  insti- 
tution in  Ireland,  as  bringing  great  numbers  together 
into  one  civil  community. 

"A  conflux  of  foreigners  to  this  retired  island,  at  a 
time  when  Europe  was  in  ignorance  and  confusion, 
gave  peculiar  lustre  to  this  seat  of  learning ;  nor  is  it 
improbable  or  surprising  that  seven  thousand  students 
studied  at  Armagh,  agreeably  to  the  accounts  of  Irish 
writers,  thougli  the  seminary  of  Armagh  was  but  one 
of  those  numerous  colleges  erected  in  Ireland.  But 
the  labors  of  the  Irish  clcrg)'  were  not  confined  to 
their  own  country.  Their  missionaries  wore  sent  to 
the  Continent.  They  converted  heathens  ;  they  con- 
firmed believers  ;  they  erected  convents ;  they  estab- 
lished schools  of  learning;  they  taught  the  use  of 
letters  to  the  Saxons  and  Normans  ;  they  converted 
the  Picts  by  the  preaching  of  Columbkill,  one  of  their 
renowned  ecclesiastics.  Burgundy,  Germany,  and 
other  countries,  received  their  instructions  ;  and  Eu- 
rope with  gratitude  confessed  the  superior  knowledge, 
the  piety,  the  zeal,  the  purity  of  the  '  Island  of  SainLs.'  " 

Such  is  the  abstract  given  by  Dr.  Leland  in  his  pre- 
liminary discourse  on  the  introduction  and  establish- 
ment of  Christianity. 

But  we  approach  a  period  when  the  sun  of  Irish 
literature  was  destined  to  a  long  eclipse.  The  hordes 
of  northern  robbers,  passing  under  the  general  name 
of  Danes,  now  began  their  irruptions ;  and  for  more 
than  two  centuries  they  continued  to  harass  and  des- 
olate  Ireland.     They  were  finally  expelled ;  but  the 


332  lEISH    LITERATURE. 

nation  was  so  wasted  and  impoverished,  that  Henry  II, 
made  an  easy  conquest  of  a  portion  of  the  island,  and 
commenced  that  dominion  of  the  EngUsh  crown  which 
has  ever  since  been  continued.  Under  this  despotism, 
for  nearly  five  hundred  years  Ireland  was  the  victim 
of  unrelenting  oppression.  It  was  not  until  after  the 
rebellion  of  1688,  and  the  desolating  attainders  and 
confiscations  which  followed,  that  a  reprieve  was  given 
to  this  unhappy  country  by  the  English  government. 
But  at  last  the  course  of  British  policy  seemed  to  be 
ameliorated,  and  the  country  rose  superior  to  the  cruel 
pressure  of  former  political  inflictions.  It  had  now  the 
bustle  and  activity  of  a  parliament ;  and  its  educated 
gentry,  residing  upon  their  estates,  exerted  their  in- 
fluence for  the  improvement  of  the  people.  The  rapid 
advances  which  were  made  under  these  circumstances 
were  little  short  of  miraculous.  It  was  then  that  the 
light  of  national  genius,  concentrating  its  long-scattered 
rays  to  a  point,  and  shining  steadily  from  its  proper 
focus,  threw  out  those  sparks  of  moral  lustre 

"  which  give 
Light  to  a  world,  and  make  a  nation  live." 

It  was  then  that  the  powerful  collision  of  active,  ardent, 
and  energetic  minds  produced  that  brilliant  burst  of 
talent,  which  for  nearly  a  century  flung  over  the  polit- 
ical darkness  of  Ireland  a  splendor  to  which  her  strug- 
gles and  her  misfortunes  served  only  to  give  a  stronger 
relief  and  more  brilliant  effect.  It  was  then  that,  after 
ages  of  mental  depression,  the  Irish  intellect  broke  out, 
when  none  expected  or  were  prepared  for  the  splendid 
irruption.     It  was  during  this  remarkable  period,  that 


IRISH    LITERATURE.  333 

such  names  as  Steele,  Goldsmith,  Sheridan,  Swift, 
Curran,  Grattan,  and  Burke,  rose  from  Ireland,  and 
swept  like  coruscations  of  light  over  the  sky.  Nor 
were  these  luminaries  followed  by  a  total  eclipse.  It  is 
true  that  the  Union  came  like  a  cloud  to  chill  the  spirit 
of  the  nation ;  to  divest  it  of  even  the  semblance  of 
independence ;  to  deprive  its  metropolis  of  its  wonted 
attraction  ;  and  to  induce  the  wealthy  proprietors  to 
seek  a  residence  in  other  lands.  But,  in  spite  of  this 
plunder  of  her  rights  and  her  liberty,  Ireland  has  still 
continued  to  add  to  her  list  of  great  names,  though 
from  this  period  they  are  merged  in  the  history  of  the 
United  Kingdom. 


334 


AMERICAN    LITERATURE. 


Wb  have  already  remarked  that,  in  the  United  States,  we 
have  not  yet  a  distinct  class  of  persons  who  devote  them- 
selves to  literature,  as  a  vocation.  If  we  except  those  who 
are  connected  with  the  periodical  press,  and  whose  design  is 
to  make  the  art  of  writing  subservient  to  business,  —  it  may 
be  stated  that  those  among  us  who  have  acquired  literary 
reputation,  have  been,  with  few  exceptions,  men  trained  to 
some  active  profession,  and  to  whom  literary  composition  is 
an  accident  or  an  episode.  The  spirit  of  society  is,  of  ne- 
cessity, in  a  country  like  ours,  where  every  thing  around 
beckons  to  a  life  of  action  and  enterprise,  commercial.  For- 
tune-making inspires  every  bosom,  or,  if  there  be  any  unoc- 
cupied corner,  it  is  filled  with  political  aspirations.  All  is 
motion,  action,  energy.  In  this  ruffled  tide  there  is  no  se- 
cluded and  quiet  spot,  where  the  Muses  may  build  their 
temple.  A  merely  literary  man,  unless  he  be  a  foreigner,  is 
a  note  out  of  tune  in  our  society.  No  other  than  money- 
getting  professions  can  be  held  in  high  respect  among  us. 

There  is  another  fact  to  be  noticed  here.  Our  language  is 
English ;  and  the  productions  of  the  London  press  are  as 
familiar  to  us  as  to  the  people  of  Great  Britain.  An  Amer- 
ican writer,  breathing  no  literary  atmosphere  —  sustained 
and  inspired  by  no  habitual  communion  with  kindred  spirits 
—  brings  his  works  into  competition  with  those  of  the  master- 
spirits of  the  old  world.  These  are  judged  by  comparison  with 
theirs.  Their  literary  tribunals,  habitually  hostile  and  con- 
tumelious, furnish  his  law3'er,  court,  and  jury.  Thus,  though 
we  have  achieved  our  political  independence,  we  are,  as  to 


AMERICAN    LITERATURE.  335 

literature,  in  a  state  of  colonial  vaasakgc.  Our  fathers 
resisted  the  transfer  of  Americans  to  EngWnd  for  trial ;  but 
our  books  are  subjected  to  this  process,  and  the  American 
public  hold  no  otiicr  than  English  verdicts  to  bo  of  author- 
ity in  such  matters 

It  may  be  also  noticed  that,  as  English  copyright  laws  do 
rtot  extend  to  this  country,  English  books  are  published  by 
any  one  who  pleases,  free  of  charge.  The  consequence  is. 
that  our  own  authors  are  obliged  to  write  in  competition 
with  a  gratuitous  introduction  of  foreign  authorship.  Amer- 
ican authors  are  situated  very  much  as  American  manufac- 
turers would  be,  if  British  goods  were  freely  given  away  in 
this  country. 

Under  such  discouragements,  which  exist  in  the  nature 
of  things,  and  which  seem  to  admit  of  no  hasty  remedy  —  it 
is  not  strange  that  we  have  neither  a  literary  spirit  nor  a 
national  literature.  Considering  all  the  circumstances,  we 
have  done  more  than  could  have  been  reasonably  expected. 
A  few  years  since,  a  leading  British  review  sneoringly  asked, 

—  "  Who  reads  an  American  book  .'  "  We  may  reply  that 
on  the  London  Catalogue  of  metropolitan  publications, 
there  are  nearly  five  hundred  American  boohs ;  and  it  might 
be  added,  as  an  evidence  of  the  meanness  of  publishers,  and 
the  prejudices  of  society  in  England,  that  many  of  these 
books  are  entirely  stripped  of  any  thing  to  indicate  their 
American  origin,  and  arc  palmed  ofl'  as  English  produc- 
tions. 

They  embrace  every  variety  of  subject,  and  furnish 
highly  respectable  specimens  in  every  walk  of  literature. 
In  spite  of  all  discouragements  —  overcoming  every  obstacle 

—  the  names  of  Sprague,  Dana,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Wil- 
lis, as  poets;  Irving,  as  an  essayist;  Cooper  and  Sedgwick, 
as  novelists;  Sparks,  Prescott,  and  Bancroft,  as  historians; 
Webster,  as  a  writer  on  political  philoso])liy  ;  Story,  as  a 
jurist ;  Dwight,  as  a  theologian  ;  Channing,  as  a  rhetorician 

—  and  many  others  —  are  known  to  fame  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic. 

Our  space  docs  not  admit  of  an  extended  discussion  of  the 


336 


AMERICAN    LITERATURE. 


subject  undor  notice ;  nor  need  we  present  specimens,  A 
illustration  of  the  past  or  present  condition  of  American  lit- 
erature. Mr.  Griswold's  volume,  entitled  American  Poetry, 
will  furnish  the  reader  a  fair  view  of  what  our  country  ham 
done  in  this  department;  and  though  we  must  admit  that 
it  has  produced  no  great  poets,  yet  we  may  challenge 
comparison  with  England  in  the  lighter  effusions  of  the 
muse,  to  which  species  only,  has  American  genius  been 
earnestly  directed. 


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